Puppies Redux: AU 201 Free to be You and Me
by Jedi's Pal
Summary: This is a REPOSTING from our shipper wish fulfilment series that changes up the Season Two premiere starting with S1 E12 Loose Ends. This is a REPOSTING of "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies" (Chapters 17-21 ) and "Reconnecting" (Chapters 6 & 7), combining together those T and M rated stories so it can be read in one comprehensive continuous storyline for the 2.01 AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your reviews of our AU repostings. Here is the final one in the series, 2.01 "Free to Be You and Me." This reposting does not include the present storyline for AU 2.01 which is currently being posted in Reconnecting. Once that story is complete, we'll add it to this one. An update for "Reconnecting" should be out early next week._

 _We're still working on the next chapter of "Be Brave Little Angel," and an update to "True Believer" in time for the fourth anniversary of the end of Burn Notice._

 _This is a REPOST of Chapters 17-21 of_ _ **Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies**_ _and Chapters 6 & 7 of __**Reconnecting**_ _for now. Chapters 21 – 25 will be reposted here when they are completed._

 _Our story opens immediately following the events of Season 1 Finale. After rescuing Sam, our hero is off to meet to meet with the people who burned him and it falls to Fiona Glenanne to take care of business and protect his family._

 _()()()()()()_

 _Miami 2008_

 _He was leaving her and, like a fool, she was helping him on his way...again..._

As quick as a cat, Fiona climbed up the metal ladder which led up onto the roof of an old abandoned warehouse close to the Miami River. Reaching the top, she walked confidently over the roof of the crumbling building, looking for the best spot to set up her sniper perch.

 _She supposed she should be grateful that at least this time he was being so up front about where she stood on his list of priorities._

Pursing her lips, she peered down from her chosen position, which gave her a clear view of the old rusted up barge where Sam Axe was being held by a heroin importer by the name of Glen Harrick. Next to the barge on the dock were two large black SUVs surrounded by a half dozen men who all looked like they had read one too many copies of Soldier of Fortune; muscle bound, carrying an impressive amount of weaponry and dressed in a loose uniform of laced boots, cargo pants and vest tops.

Kneeling down, she unzipped her rifle case and pulled out her Hecate 2, a rifle she had owned for over ten years. It had been a gift from a former lover and about the only thing she had kept from that relationship, except for a deep sorrow for wasting five years of her life. Fleeting thoughts of former lovers brought her mind back to Michael and his damned obsession.

 _Why couldn't he just accept he was no longer wanted by his government and get on with his life? Hadn't they had fun so far? They had certainly helped a lot of people. It surprised her how much she had liked doing that; helping the little guy, the ones who couldn't help themselves. Her year in Miami had changed her so much, why not him? He had friends now, or at least a friend in Sam Axe, he was getting on with his family. What more did he need?_

As her thoughts centered on her lover's decision to go off with the people who had destroyed his life, her hands dealt with the task of getting her weapon ready for use while her eyes kept watch on the activity taking place on and around the barge.

Raising the deadly weapon, she peered through the scope, thinking how easy it would be to pick the majority of the mercenaries off with the rifle and then send one of the prepared-for-use pieces of C4 she had with her down to finish off the remaining men. But, of course, that plan would probably get Sam Axe killed.

 _Sam Axe, former SEAL commander, a man who a year ago she would have cheerfully killed and done it with a smile on her face… But not now… now she had gotten to know him. Now only after he had been taken by a ruthless team made up of ex-Special Forces and mercenaries did she realize she thought of him as a friend too._

All but a couple or so of the men hanging around near the barge were climbing into the SUVs and preparing to leave. Keeping watch through her rifle scope, she brought out her cell phone and pressed one on the speed dial.

"It looks like they're leaving a three man team on the boat," she told the man on the other end of the call.

"I'm off to crash the party," he replied and then hung up.

Placing the phone down at her side, she shifted her body until she found a position she could hold for as long as she had to. Her eyes never strayed from the men moving about on the deck. If one of them moved into a position where they might spot Michael's underwater approach, she centered her sights on him.

 _Why was nothing straight forward with Michael?_ She sighed. _They could have gotten Sam back hours ago if they had gone with her spur of the moment plan of just taking what they had in the trunk of the Charger and gone in shooting._

 _It was the way they would have done it back in Belfast. Michael McBride had possessed a sense of style which had made him her type of man. This Michael Westen was far too cautious for her liking. That was except concerning his own safety. Who was going to watch his back after today? Damn him, he needed his own team… he needed her!_

" _I'm off to crash the party" could very well turn out to be his last words to her if things went wrong._

She hardened her heart and concentrated on the job at hand. _He had made it very plain this was what he wanted._

 _At least this time they had gotten to say goodbye. At least this time, she wasn't going to wake from a drugged sleep at a loss as to what had happened. This time she knew he had willingly chosen something other than her. She wanted to hate him for it, but she couldn't do it._

Fiona narrowed her eyes as she noted a disturbance in the water under the gangplank. Her finger slid inside the trigger guard, lightly caressing the trigger as she prepared to shoot anybody who looked over the side. Moments later, everything stilled and she relaxed slightly. The sticky bomb they had made together was now in place and ready to surprise the bad guys as soon as they attempted to leave the vessel.

 _She missed their days in Ireland. She wanted her wild Irishman McBride back, but it seemed he had been swallowed up by Michael Westen. Biting down on her lip, she couldn't stop the wistful smile breaking through as she remembered how a short while ago they had said goodbye in the shower, with water tumbling down over them and washing away her tears._

She tightened her grip on her rifle as her thoughts went to where his hands had gone over her wet slick skin and the way her own hands had glided over the planes of his muscular chest and abdomen.

A shot rang out, echoing up from the depth of the barge, bringing her thoughts instantly back to present.

" _Michael!"_

All other thoughts scattered as her attention zeroed in on the men on deck, who were rushing towards the single hatch which led into the bowels of the barge.

She sent two shots ricocheting off the door frame, causing the two mercenaries closest to back off as splinters of metal flew towards them. The third man, a heavy set blond all tattoos and muscles, ran forward and she cut him off by taking a more difficult shot, aiming the bullet at the metal railing close to where his hand was about to land.

She grinned as she held all three at bay without hitting any of them, giving herself points for difficulty of the shot... _This was fun..._ Reaching for her phone, she dialed in a number while making sure her targets stayed out of the fight that was undoubtedly happening below deck.

Suddenly, the former SEAL burst out onto deck followed closely by the burned spy, the two men running like the hounds of hell were on their tails. She fired a few more shots at the mercs to keep them back and then, as Michael's feet cleared the gangplank, she pressed the _send_ key and smiled happily as the gangplank and a good part of the deck was blown to kingdom come.

She pointedly kept her eyes trained on the barge, refusing to watch as Michael and Sam jumped into Sam's Cadillac and drove away at top speed. He was gone and, all of a sudden, she felt very much alone.

Packing away her gun, she fought back the urge to weep. _Where the hell was that coming from? She hadn't cried, or even felt the need to cry, since... Since Michael left her the very first time._

With her weapon packed away, and the sound of sirens in the distance, she got to her feet. Her heart suddenly leapt when her cell phone began to ring. _Had he finally come to his senses?_ She frowned when she saw an unknown number.

"Fiona?" Madeline's panicked voice came through loud and clear along with the sound of squealing tires and the unmistakable sound of gun fire. "Oh thank god, you answered... Michael said not to use the phones, but we need - we need help. Michael's safe phone isn't working an' …NATE! Oh my god!"

"Madeline, what's happening?" Fiona cut off the other woman's panicked rambling, all thoughts of Michael gone from her head as she made her way to the ladder to take her back to the ground.

"Some men are chasing us! We can't get away… Nate is..."

"Hey, Fiona?" Nate's voice came on the line. "Er, I could really use some help here... Or some advice... I've two cars on my ass and they're trying to shoot out the tires and run us off the road."

"Where are you, which way are you traveling?" Fiona was all business. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she held the phone to her ear by pressing it between her cheek and shoulder as she climbed down from the building as fast as she could.

"We were heading towards Fort Lauderdale, but these guys were tailing us, so I kept going north… I got all the way to Palm Beach Gardens. I thought I lost them. But as soon as I got to the Turnpike and headed back south, they came outta nowhere and started shooting!"

"Where are you?" she repeated with a little more force.

"I got off at Okeechobee Road and now I'm headed down State Road 7… I thought I lost them a couple of subdivisions ago, but now I'm not so sure."

As soon as her feet hit the ground, she was off and running, crossing over a patch of wasteland until she reached the road and the strip mall beyond the bridge.

"Nate, get back on the Turnpike. Go south as fast as you can without getting yourselves killed. They're not going to risk getting stopped by the Highway Patrol. Then I need you to get onto the Sawgrass Expressway and keep heading south. Do you understand?"

Striding along the pavement, she searched for just the right vehicle. A high powered sports motorbike with the crash helmet dangling off the handle bars caught her attention. It was perfect for her needs.

"Nate?" she snapped when she had got no answer to her suggestion.

"Sorry, I thought... Oh, dammit, I thought I'd lost them... Yeah, I can do that, if I can-"

The owner of the motorbike had to be inside the store. She spotted a man dressed all in fancy racing leathers standing in line for the cashier.

"Get off at Atlantic Boulevard. You'll see me soon. Whatever you do, go fast and don't stop." She hung up and pushed her phone into her pocket.

The owner of her chosen form of transport was moving closer to the front of the line as she pulled on the crash helmet and then used the blade of a knife to jimmy the ignition.

Climbing astride the powerful machine, she settled her rifle bag so the bottom was clear of the seat and then pressed the button on the handlebars, which caused the engine to roar to life. By the time the owner of the motorcycle was running out of the store shouting for her stop, Fiona was half way down the street, rapidly going through the gears.

Weaving in and out of the late afternoon traffic, Fiona broke more than a few traffic laws as she increased the speed of the bike. But none of that mattered to her, as all of her concentration was on getting to Michael's mother and brother as fast as she could.

She was all the way on the west side of Fort Lauderdale, roaring down West Atlantic Boulevard when she eased back on the throttle and eventually came to a stop on the other side of the entrance cum exit ramp for the Sawgrass Expressway. She eased the bike through the open lot on the other side of the roadway made of compacted sand and rock and then on across the access bridge, which was used by the Fish & Game Commission and various other water management agencies, and then onto the road that ran parallel to a wide drainage canal.

Pulling off the crash helmet, she got back onto her phone. It had been not quite an hour since she had last spoken to Nate and she was now silently praying that both he and his mother were still alive.

"Fiona! Oh!" Madeline's breathy tones answer as soon as Fiona dialed the number.

"Madeline, put the phone on loud speaker." Fiona gave the blonde a second to carry out her command. "Nate, where are you?"

"I'm on the Sawgrass Expressway, just like you told me. They're just following us, now but they've got a fricking chopper as well an' I'm not going to lose them, Fiona. I think they're just waiting for us to run outta gas or give up."

"Don't stop now, Nate. Get off at Atlantic Boulevard and then cut through the open lot there on your right at the end of the ramp. You go over the bridge and get on the road next to the canal and keep going. Whatever you see or hear, don't stop. I know what I'm doing and you'll only get in my way. I'll catch up to you when it's all over."

"I was aiming for a motel on Bayshore Drive, shall I -"

"Yes, Nate. If I don't catch up with you, ditch the Charger somewhere and take a different car. I've got to go now."

She looked down at the phone and wondered briefly what Michael was doing. _He should be here with me, protecting his family... Instead he's gone off to meet with the very people who are trying to kill or capture them._

With her anger growing, Fiona pocketed her cell and pulled the crash helmet back on. _If Michael was too wrapped up in his own life to look after his own mother, she guessed it was up to her to show these people what happened when you messed with somebody under the protection of Fiona Glenanne._

Two miles down, she found what she was looking for. On that stretch of straight road, there was nothing but the occasional bush or tree to hide her amongst all the open land on either side of the deep canal that ran alongside the dirt road. Leaving the bike behind one of the few bushes along the way, she knelt down and opened her rifle case. Setting up the gun, she then gathered up the C4 charges she had brought with her and set them up along the edge of the road.

Looking upwards, she spotted the helicopter flying low and coming in fast and she smiled.

They would see this roadway with plenty of room to land and try to bring the Charger to a stop. Hiding under the bushes with the concealed bike, she watched as Michael's Charger came into sight with the helicopter flying in front of the muscle car, attempting to force the driver to give up.

Rising up, Fiona sighted on the chopper, aiming for the tail rotor and firing. It took two shots for her to do the damage she was looking for. Without that vital piece of equipment, its pilot would have no choice but to land and, with the relative instability of wet swamp land, there would be no good place to put the heavy machine that would support its weight.

Seconds later, the Charger flew past and Fiona was eternally grateful that Nate did as she asked and didn't try to stop and help. With one eye on where the chopper was coming down for a hard landing, she had the other eye on the four cars coming straight at her. Lowering the rifle, Fiona pulled out her phone and rapidly keyed in the number to detonate the bombs.

One, two, three, four explosions all went off one after another, sending the two lead vehicles across the road and onto their sides. The other two vehicles involved in the chase had managed to avoid the charges but in their efforts not to crash into their compatriots, they swerved hard and it wasn't enough to save them on the narrow road as both vehicles flew off the embankment and into the deep waters of the adjacent canal with a loud splash.

Bringing the rifle back up, Fiona opened fire again, sending bullets into the vehicles still on the road and driving back the occupants who had just climbed out of the wreckage.

 _WHOOSH! BANG!_ One of the cars exploded and ignited the one behind. _WHOOSH! BANG!_ The second one blew up too, sending flames and burning metal out in all directions. Grinning from ear to ear, Fiona ran back to where she had left the motorbike.

 _Now this was what she called fun._ Satisfied that nobody would be able to give chase, she climbed back on to the motorbike and roared away.

It took Fiona less than ten minutes to catch up to the Charger, being driven at a far more sedate speed now they were no longer being followed. As she came up alongside the sleek black vehicle, Fiona saw Madeline sitting stiffly inside, her hands gripping the seat as if her live depended on it.

Seeing the look of panic cross Nate's face, she lifted up the visor on the crash helmet so he could see her face and then gestured to stop at the public park at the end of the access road. There, amongst all the families having a picnic and the boaters, they could get a moment to talk privately.

As soon as Nate pulled up in a parking space, Madeline launched herself out of the door and pulled Fiona, who had just arrived at their side after parking the stolen motorbike, into a death grip of a hug. "What is going on? Where's Michael? Why isn't he here? Who were those people? How did -"

"Mom, breathe, please. Give Fi a chance," Nate interrupted his mother's flow and earned Fiona's gratitude when Madeline reluctantly let her go.

"Michael is off doing his spy thing," Fiona began to answer the list of questions. "I think those people were part of the group who is trying to bring Michael in." Fiona took a breath of her own and then made a point of looking about her at all the parked up vehicles. The area was too small to steal a vehicle with all the witnesses close by and ensure a clean exit.

"We need to get another car and get out of here in case they've got re-enforcements on the way. Weston..." and she grinned as she said the name of the nearest suburb with malls and parking lots aplenty. "Weston is the nearest place we can get a new ride. Let me drive." She held out her hand for the keys before taking over the driver's seat.

Faster than either of the Westens thought possible, they were pulling into the Westgate Square Shopping Center and Fiona was climbing out of the vehicle.

"Nate, you and your mom wait here, I'll -"

"All due respect, Fiona, if you're talking about, er, 'borrowing a car,' I'm the one for the job."

She saw an eager to please expression on his face and smiled back.

 _Michael would have shot him down and ordered his younger brother to wait with their mother, but she wasn't Michael. She knew the value of teamwork._

"Go ahead, Nate. We'll get the bags out of the trunk while we wait."

Nate was back in less than ten minutes with an older model silver Toyota Corolla which would have pleased Michael no end. Plain, popular and nondescript, an ideal vehicle if you wanted to remain anonymous; Fiona hated it.

Keeping within the speed limits and obeying all the traffic signals, they reached Bayshore Drive and the Shell Resort Motel before nightfall. After booking in, Fiona took the Corolla and dumped it several miles away from where the Westens were going to be taking their unexpected vacation before walking back to join them for one night.

In the morning, she slipped out early and came back with breakfast for them all. Then, as they sat around a small round topped table, she explained what was going to happen.

"I don't know how long you're going to have to stay here... Hopefully it won't be too long," she added quickly before Madeline could interrupt. "I'm sure once Michael has spoken to _these_ people, everything will be fine." She tried to sound positive, but it was hard work. "I need you to make a list of everything you think you might need and I'll go and get it for you."

Of course, neither Madeline nor Nate wanted to stay in the motel room; it was small with the minimal amenities. But it was safe and completely anonymous, hidden amongst the hundreds of other identical businesses on the Fort Lauderdale sea shore.

Shortly after they all finished breakfast, Fiona headed out with a long list of what the Westens considered essentials. By lunchtime, she arrived back at the room to find it filled with a thick cloud of smoke and Nate already climbing the walls as Madeline sat smoking one cigarette after another as she watched her daytime soaps.

"You gotta tell her about the smoking, Fi. I'm gonna die of carbon monoxide poisoning if I have to stay here," Nate whined. Then he pointed to the ceiling. "She made me disarm the smoke detectors."

Rolling her eyes, Fiona took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Madeline, you can't-"

"I've been dragged out of my home and chased all over the state and I haven't complained once, Fiona." Mrs. Westen was not about to let the younger generation tell her what she could and couldn't do. "But I'm putting my foot down now. I'll smoke where I damn well please."

One glimpse into the older woman's piercing steely blue eyes and Fiona decided it really wasn't worth the effort to force the stubborn blond to go outside every time she wanted to soothe her nerves. Besides, she wasn't going to be here to enforce the rules.

Breaking Mrs. Westen's gaze, Ms. Glenanne sent Nate a look that said _'I'm sorry I tried.'_

And the younger Mr. Westen sent one back which said _'See what I have to put up with?'_

"Well…" Fiona checked the time on the wall clock. "I need to get back and try to find Michael or Sam so I can fill them in with what's happened. Stay here and don't use the phones until either Michael or I contact you. Don't draw any money from the ATMs. Here's all the cash I've got on me." She handed Nate several hundred dollars and one of her spare guns. "Just remember, stay out of sight."

Away from the smoky confines of the motel room, Fiona let out a long drawn out sigh and walked away. She was going to go back to Miami and see if she could find Sam and maybe wait a few days extra to see if Michael returned.

If he didn't, she already had an offer of employment. If she ever wanted to move on, Seymour Talbot, the crazy arms dealer she had only met a couple of weeks earlier, had asked her to join him on one of his trips to South America and now that she was unattached, she was seriously thinking about taking him up on his offer. Spending some time with somebody who knew how to mix business with pleasure would be a pleasant change, at least for a while.

Stealing a rather nice new model white Honda CR-V SUV, she drove sedately back down I-95 into Miami. The drive was boring, but thankfully it was also short and uneventful. In less than half an hour, she was pulling up in a parking spot outside her home on the Intracoastal. All the way back, she had begun to wonder what Michael was doing and how much her own actions yesterday had effected his efforts to find out why he was burned.

She was still struggling with his decision to abandon them all without a backward glance. And that brought up another problem. If he was gone for good, what was she or Sam supposed to do with his mother and brother? Sure, Nate could probably look after himself. But Madeline would just be a sitting duck every time his new friends wanted to blackmail him into doing something.

Getting out of her purloined vehicle, she collected her rifle bag from the trunk and strolled into her apartment. For now, she chose to push the fate of Nate and Madeline to the back of her mind. She was tired, hungry and in need of a bath after spending two days in the same clothes.

Leaving the rifle in its bag on the couch, she went through to her bathroom and started running the hot water. Then, while the bath filled, she did a quick check that everything was as secure as it had been when she had left three days ago before going to the fridge. Pulling out a bottle of white wine, she poured herself a large glass.

Ten minutes later, she was letting the hot water soak away all the tension built up from the last forty eight hours. Resting her head back, she sipped on her wine and let her eyes close. This was just what she needed was her last conscious thought as the nearly empty glass dropped from her hand and bounced on to the floor.

When she woke up, the water was cold and her skin wrinkled and prune like. Hurriedly getting out, she dried herself and got into her pajamas. She had a mild surprise that she had let the glass fall from her hand and then a stray thought about being lucky that it had hit the rug and not the tile floor as she headed towards the kitchen.

It was too late to go searching for Sam, though she had a good idea on how to find him. He was bound to be wrapped in the arms of Veronica, the very wealthy buxom blond he had taken up with recently. The thought of Sam and his lady friend entwined made her feel nauseous, so there was no way she was going to actively search him out just to tell him she had yet again saved the day.

Pouring a fresh glass of wine, she turned on the television and flicked through the channels until she found a documentary on the bomb disposal squads working in Afghanistan. She still felt unusually tired, but it was easy to explain away with all they had been through in the last couple of weeks. Curling up on her couch, she decided she would watch the documentary and then clean her rifle before going to bed.

The sound of her cell phone beeping loudly and bouncing its way across the dining table in the corner of the room woke Fiona with a start. Looking around totally confused, she realized she must have fallen asleep on the couch and slept through the night. Glancing at her watch, she scowled when she saw the time. It was already eleven am. She had slept straight through for at least fifteen hours.

Bleary eyed, she stared at her phone, reading the message.

" _Come over ASAP. I've got a job_." He was back. She froze for a moment, staring at the brutally short message.

" _Come over ASAP. I've got a job."_ The anger began to build. _That was all he had to say to her?_

" _Come over ASAP. I've got a job."... Oh, she'd go over alright and, if she didn't like what he had to say, she would teach a lesson he wouldn't soon forget._

Leaving her phone on the table, she quickly made her way into her bedroom, unable to stop the beaming smile on her lips. _He was back..._

It didn't take long to have a quick shower and throw on a little pink and white tie dye summer dress. Twenty minutes after getting the message, Fiona was heading out of the door ready to do battle.

When she pulled up outside the metal gates, she could see him still dressed in his black special ops gear, attempting to hose away all the dust, dirt and plant life covering Sam's Cadillac. Staring at all the damage done to the vehicle, she was surprised Michael was still standing.

 _Well, if she didn't like what he had to say, he wouldn't be standing much longer._ Slamming the Honda's door, she marched towards him, waving her cell phone at him.

"Hey, Fi."

Her eyes narrowed at his casual tone.

"I can't believe you, Michael." She watched his head drop. "Forty eight hours ago we said goodbye, possibly forever." The garden hose drooped in his hand and he let it fall to the ground. "And then I get a message from you on my cell that I should come right over because _you've_ _gotta job?_ "

"Fi, there's a lot going on. So -"

 _Oh, he is heading for a bloody nose if he keeps up this attitude._ Her anger flared and deep down she knew she was over reacting, but just can't stop herself.

"You couldn't start with I'm alive?" she demanded hotly.

Close up, she could see exactly how damaged the car was. The rear end was beaten up so badly there didn't look to be a single panel that wasn't going to need straightening out.

"I thought the fact I was calling you covered that."

 _He really hadn't got a clue. Oh, but he was going to wish he had. Her fingers were already folding to make a fist._

"It's not the point," she scowled at him. "Do you have any idea what's gone on while you've been away? D'ya know I had to go an' rescue your mom and Nate? Whoever you've made a deal with to leave your family out of it aren't very trustworthy, Michael. Your mom was -"

"My mom being upset is going to be the least of our problems if I don't do this job, Fi," he cut her off, too busy wrapped up in his own problems to be concerned about what happened to the people he so blithely left behind.

She didn't even have to make the decision for her fist to fly; it went all on its own. But in her rage, she telegraphed the move and Michael easily blocked her attack and used her momentum to spin her around so he could hold her tight with her back firmly pressed into his chest.

"Fi, I called you because I need your help," he told her patiently, his warm breath tickling her neck and caused her anger to fade.

He smelt of sweat, gunpowder and explosives and she couldn't help pressing up against him. _He was back, which meant they had another chance._ She was just about to remonstrate him, remind that his family needed his help far more than any stranger.

"And as for the other..." He began to speak, but was cut off by the ringing of his phone and, when she turned in his arms, he drew away to answer the call

"Fi, please…"

With a final stroke of her hand down his chest, she backed away so he could take his call and she could inspect the damage done to Sam's pride and joy.

"Hey, mom, I'm fine. I told you not to make calls on that phone."

Fiona watched as Michael's expression went from pained to angry as his mother undoubtedly filled him in on what had occurred while he was gallivanting around with his _new friends_.

"Ma, I'm going to handle this. Where's Nate?" He listened intently now to the answer.

"He did what? No, no, I'm not mad." He paused, closing his eyes. "Okay, mom, you can just come on home... I – I can't come and get you, can you take a bus?"

The gist of Madeline's response was almost audible through the phone. "Yes, I'm fine, mom, really... Yes, Fi's here… Yeah mom, we're gonna talk all about it now... Okay, I'm gonna go now… Bye mom."

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he turned to Fiona. "A helicopter, Fiona, you shot down a helicopter? And you blew up four cars?"

She smiled at him, pleased to see he finally got how much danger his family had been put in. "I was preventing a kidnapping... Besides, you've shot down helicopters before. Why should you get to have all the fun?"

"Yeah, well, I think in saving my family, you put another one at risk." He gestured with a tilt of his head to the stairs. "Come and meet Jimmy."

Jimmy turned out to be a nervous looking computer programmer, who had come to the attention of Michael's new friend Carla because he had the skills to get her the information she needed from a group of mercenaries who were masquerading as security consultants.

"So they took my family because they couldn't take yours?" Jimmy accused after Fiona explained what had happened to the group assembled in the loft.

"It looks like it... I think they were transporting me to the airfield to stop you or my family would be killed and, when they couldn't do that, they did the next best thing and took your wife and kid."

"And you're still letting your mom come home?" Fiona commented.

"They don't need her now they've got Jimmy's family. We'll get them back, Jimmy, don't worry. They need me for other things and I'm not going to work for them if they can't keep their word."

Fiona opened her mouth to comment on his statement, but the look he threw her stilled her lips.

"Sam, why don't you take Jimmy and get a change of clothes? I think it's safe for us all to move around while we're doing what Carla wants."

"Yea, I was just thinking I needed to get out of these doll clothes, Mikey." Sam checked his watch and did some calculations. "Ronnie will be out at the manicurists right about now, so if we're quick, I should be able to slip in and out without her catching me, easy peasy. Come on, Jimmy, you can play look out for me."

As soon as they were alone, Fiona moved across the room, stopping directly in front of her lover. "You can't be serious about trusting this Carla? She promised to leave your family alone and then tried to kidnap them. Your mom coulda been killed, Michael."

"I don't really have much choice at the moment, Fi," he answered softly. "If we don't do what she wants, Jimmy's family is going to pay the price."

"And what happens once Jimmy is reunited with his family? What then, Michael? Who will they take next time they want to use you? Or maybe they'll just kill one of us to make a point."

"Fi…"

But she wasn't listening any more. Turning away, she took a step and was then brought back round by a strong hand gripping her arm.

"Fi, I need you with me on this."

She glared at him. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him no, not until he agreed to doing something about Carla was the next thing on his list of things to do. But one look into his deep blue eyes and she found herself agreeing to help.

"Fine," she glowered. "But afterwards we have a long talk."

He nodded, smiling happily now he had gotten his way. "So I need to get Jimmy to introduce me to this Ryder Stahl character. Do you think you can go scout out the building? It's at -"

"You stink, Michael." She almost laughed at his quizzical look. "No, I mean it, you're not going anywhere until you've had a shower and gotten changed." She ran her hand down his chest and made easy work of his belt buckle. _She had nearly lost him forever. This was something she needed..._

"I need a shower?" He raised an eyebrow and let her lead him across the large open space to the back corner where his compact bathroom was hidden behind a thin wooden door covered in flaking paint.

"Yes, a thorough wash down," she answered. Kicking the door shut, she grabbed the hem of his top and jerked it up so she could run her hands over his exposed torso. "Every. Single. _Inch_. Of. You."

 **()()()()()**

Leaving the loft with a smile on both their faces, Fiona dropped Michael off outside of Carlitos and then continued to drive over to the business district. Security Associates, Ryder Stahl's business was set up on the second floor of a three story building. The reception had a large glass windows, which would give a clear view of that area. But she needed something which gave a view of Security Associates offices. Across the street, she saw a parking garage which would be ideal. After a quick scout, she discovered the roof top gave the best position to watch the second floor and it also gave a good spot to give covering fire if Michael had to come out hot.

"I couldn't spot any security outside the building and I've found the ideal spot to watch," she spoke into her cell phone.

" _That's great, Fi. We're going back to the loft so I can get changed while Sam teachs Jimmy his lines..."_

"Fine. I'll see you in an hour, Michael. Be careful."

There was no way she was going to do surveillance in her sun dress, especially not after what had happened the last time she had spent time with Sam Axe. An hour wasn't much time to get back to her place, get changed and back. But if she drove fast, she might just make it.

The white SUV wasn't the best vehicle to cut through traffic, but with her driving skills Fiona made it home in under fifteen minutes. Once she was inside, she quickly stripped off the dress and reached for the first pair of jeans she came across. Pulling them on, she stared down as she struggled to do the button up and then had to suck in her stomach to get the zipper all the way up.

She paused, but was too busy to think much about it, as she needed to get out of the door. She would put a loose fitting top on to hide how snug the jeans had become. _They must have shrunk when she washed them._

 **()()()**

Sitting in a hot car with Sam Axe munching his way through some foul smelling greasy sandwich, Fiona fought down a rising bout of nausea.

"I can't believe, Michael, the way he just came back and expects us to drop everything to help him out," she pouted.

"You're being too hard on Mike. He damn near got himself killed saving me." Sam defended his best friend and took another huge bite of his meal.

"And I damn near got myself killed saving the both of you... And his mom... and Nate." She peered through a set of binoculars, wondering briefly why she could no longer see the man in question. "And then he comes back and it's like nothing happened."

"I'm just sayin'. I can count on one hand the number of buddies I've got who'd stage an armed assault to save my butt. Okay, you've got Mike, you've got -" He came to a stop when he obviously couldn't think of a single other person who would willing risk their life for him. "The point is -" He made his point by waving his sandwich out of the car window. "Mike is the kinda guy who's got your back -"

He was interrupted by the shout of " _GUN!_ " coming from exit ramp behind them, followed instantly by a shot which took out the side mirror which had only been replaced a couple of hours earlier.

"What the hell is he doing?" Sam winced and ducked as the rear window disintegrated, sending a shower of glass into the caddy's back seat.

"I think we just got recruited into Michael's cover," she replied and drew her own gun as Sam, finally getting with the program, got the caddy engine started and slammed the vehicle into reverse as more shots came their way.

Leaning out of the window, she saw the smile on Michael's face as he casually fired a shot directly over her head. In answer, she playfully returned fire by sending a shot ricocheting off the ground in between his legs.

Before she could show off more of her superior skills, Sam got the car turned around and they went racing down the ramps and back into the street.

"Oh jeez," Sam looked at the damage done to his baby: a side mirror hanging off, enough bullets in the trunk to make it look like a sieve and the replacement rear window had nothing but a few pieces of splintered glass left in the frame and tiny shattered pieces all over the back seat. "I thought it was bad before... Next time, we use your car," he told the smirking red head who was admiring Michael's handiwork.

One finger traced a line of bullet holes, noting the skill and artistry that was displayed in firing that many shots and not doing any serious damage.

"Oh Sam," she smiled sweetly. "If I'd been driving, we wouldn't have sat there long enough for him to get off that many shots."

 **()()()()**

Leaving Sam to drive his mangled vehicle back to the loft, Fiona climbed into her immaculate Honda and, from a new position, kept watch on Security Associates to make sure they didn't try to follow Sam as he drove away.

After a few minutes, she began to shift uncomfortably in her seat as the waistband of her jeans dug into her skin. _This was ridiculous; she had barely eaten anything over the last few days... Had the wine the night before made her bloated?_

Half an hour passed and there was no sign of anybody from Stahl's organization going out on the streets. But she knew that meant nothing as they hadn't spotted the mercenaries creeping up on them on the parking garage. If it hadn't been for Michael's warning shout... _That was something that shouldn't have happened. What was the matter with her? Normally she would never let a group get the drop on her like that._ She looked at herself in the rear view mirror. _Maybe she was just a bit run down. Too many nights without any sleep and eating at irregular hours._

Feeling her phone vibrating in her pocket, she answered it. "Michael."

"Fi, I'm gonna have to go back inside Security Associates. I need to look at their vault. Can you hang on a bit longer?"

"Not a problem, Michael. But why go back and risk -"

"Carla called while I was at my mom's. She left the Charger there and - and she put Jimmy's little girl on the line... Please, Fi."

"I said I'd do it, Michael, and unlike some people I always keep my word."

With the call ended, she sat back with a huff. _They should be out looking for Carla, or at least discussing how they were going to draw the bitch out, so they could teach her a lesson about kidnapping children._

She stayed while Michael went back inside to try to make friends with Ryder Stahl and she waited patiently until after he came out and drove away in the Charger. Then, instead of following him back to the loft to find out exactly what was going on, she decided to go home and change into another outfit. Normally, she had trouble getting clothes to fit her slender frame and the jeans she was wearing were not new. _So why did they make her feel like she had gone up a whole dress size?_

Once she was home, she tried on a couple of different outfits and then studied her body in the long mirror attached to her wardrobe door. She looked the same as normal. Twisting and turning she thought maybe, if she was being critical, she had put on a few pounds. Slipping into a long sleeved brown and white dress that skimmed her hips and breasts, she studied her profile one more time. At least this dress fit nicely.

When she arrived at the loft, she could hear Sam's voice as he sat out on the balcony. It sounded like he was trying to teach Jimmy to play a complicated card game he had once tried to teach her.

If Sam was out on the balcony, that had to mean Michael was inside on his own. Smiling happily, she made her way up the steps and entered without bothering to knock. He was leaning over the work bench his forehead wrinkled as he concentrated on a drawing.

"Figuring out a time when we can have our conversation?" she called out as she slinked across the space between them.

Pleased to see his gaze following her progress across the room, she slid past him letting one hand trail lightly over his back as she went to the fridge. Leaning forward, giving him the chance to admire her behind, she studied the contents of the fridge for a moment before claiming the last blueberry yogurt.

Pulling the lid off the cup, she turned to face him and licked the lid clean before throwing it into the waste bin.

"Fi, I'm planning a heist, erm – c-c-can y-you just, I mean, I gotta do the job first."

 _He was rattled; that was good..._

"Do the job first, right." She sighed heavily and began to spoon the soft, creamy goodness into her mouth. "So, what can _I_ do for the job?"

"I need you to get us into IsoGene Labs. It's a DNA testing facility one floor above Security Associates. I need to get in there for an hour, at night, alone and we're gonna be making a lotta noise."

Fiona twirled her tongue around the spoon, licking away the last vestiges of the yogurt. She was normally partial to peach, but for some reason the blueberry one she had just finished off had been delicious. "You have a high estimation of my skills, Michael."

"You've earned every bit of it, Fi," he replied and she couldn't help smiling at the husky tone in his voice, or the way his eyes were stripping her bare.

Dropping the yogurt cup and spoon into the sink, she slipped past him stopping only to give him a light kiss on the cheek. "I'll call when I've done the job, Michael. And just remember I want that talk afterwards."

 **()()()()()**

Standing in the elevator, waiting for it to reach the third floor, Fiona eased her hand around the waistband of the skin tight white pants she had on. Sighing, she glanced into the mirror which covered the upper part of three of the walls. The matching top was just as tight and the buttons of the fitted shirt wouldn't have done up even if she had wanted to fasten them. As it was, her green lacy bra was barely containing her very perky breasts.

As the lift doors opened, she held a clip board in front of her covering her very much exposed assets and stepped out into IsoGene Laboratories reception. Settling into character, she plastered a big flirty smile on her face and sashayed over to the desk.

It took her all of five minutes to convince Clive the receptionist to let a building contractor into the labs over night. A little bit of flirting and a few suggestive looks and she had him eating out of hand. He even promised to call the building security immediately so she wouldn't get into trouble.

Pleased with herself, all she could think of as she stepped back into the elevator was how good that last blueberry yogurt had tasted. She could still taste it on her lips. Letting out a long sigh, Fiona frowned as another button came undone on her shirt and, right there and then, she had a revelation.

 _No. Ah huh... It's impossible... I had a jab._

She ran her hands over her still flat belly and at that moment the doors opened. Wide eyed and on the verge of panic, she walked purposefully out of the building and into the street.

 _She had of course heard all the stories about contraception failing, but it had never failed on her before and, really at her age..._ She shook her head _. No, it was impossible. She would prove it, if only to get rid of any lingering doubts._

Reaching her car she drove away, taking her time to make sure nobody was tailing her. She eventually came to a stop in the parking lot of the Target superstore on South Dixie. Inside she walked down the various aisles, passing by the rows of pregnancy tests three times before she got the nerve to stop and study the various types they had to offer. Finally, she picked up two different ones so she could double check the results to be sure.

She was on her way to pay when she came to a stop and back tracked past the contraceptives and other medicines and down to where the dairy products were displayed. Searching along the rows, she eventually found what she was looking for Brennan's blueberry flavored yogurts.

It was while she was waiting in line to pay that her cell began to ring. It was Michael.

"Michael...Sorry I got distracted. You're ready to go. The guy on the desk, I had him -"

"Fi, Fiona... Carla has kidnapped Nate."

She froze. "What?"

"I was talking with Jimmy and I spotted this guy watching us. When I chased him down, he had an envelope on him. It had two pictures inside, one of Jimmy's family and one of Nate... Then Carla called to tell me they were getting impatient and I'd better get on with the job... They picked him up at the airport, Fi. He was waiting to board a flight to Las Vegas."

She could hear the anguish in his voice and it broke her heart and at the same time filled her with a rage. _Nobody hurt her friends or family and lived to tell of it._

She paid for her yogurts and pregnancy tests as she continued to talk. "What can I do, Michael? What do you want me to do?"

"I need you with Sam tonight, and, Fi, I think you were right about what you said earlier. I need to see you - after the job."

"I'll be there, Michael." He hung up on her and she stared at her phone in shock.

This was going to be a harder night than she thought.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ _This is the second part of the 2.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 18 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."_

 _()()()()()()_

 _An alternate for Season Two and beyond following on from 1.12 Loose Ends – Part 2_

 _()()()()()()_

Miami 2008

Fiona Glenanne sat in the passenger front seat of Sam's bullet hole riddled Cadillac, staring out of the side window at the front doors of the building where Michael and their client Jimmy were busily inside stealing data. As she sat there, she came to the conclusion that being in such close quarters late at night with Sam Axe came about number one hundred and twenty five on the list of places she would want to spend her free time. In fact, the more she thought about it, where she was right now came right behind being trapped in a closet with Madeline Westen and a carton of her favorite brand of cigarettes.

 _An hour earlier, she had taken the first of the pregnancy tests she had bought into the bathroom and then spent a nerve racking minute waiting for the result to appear on the display. When the little window had finally revealed its result, she had forgotten how to breathe as +3 weeks had slowly appeared in the tiny window. As she had stared in disbelief, she couldn't help wondering how the hell it had happened. She was very careful with her contraception and, up until now, it had never let her down._

 _But slowly the shock had worn away to be replaced by a warm glow which had spread through her body, leaving her grinning like an idiot. She was pregnant... and as daft as it seemed, she was happy._

 _She hadn't given any thought to having a family since Michael had run out on her the very first time in Ireland. She had put away the dreams of a loving husband and a brood of little ones running about her feet and getting into mischief as nothing more than childish folly._

 _But now, now it wasn't a dream. It was very very real. Could she do it? Of course she could. Nothing had changed. She still possessed the same skills, the same drives. Maybe once they got rid of that bitch Carla..._

"So, what has you looking like the cat who ate the canary?" Sam asked as he gave her a puzzled look.

"The thought that once this is over, we get to kill this Carla person, who kidnaps and threatens to murder little girls." The crisply spoken answer came from her lips without a pause. What she didn't add was the part where she had an overwhelming desire to kill or run out of town, but preferable kill, anybody who might bring harm to her child.

"Carla is the only clue Mikey has, Fi." Sam put a dampener on her homicidal desires. "He's not gonna kill the only person who can give him the answers he needs."

"She kidnapped Nate, as well as Jimmy's family. She's dangerous... She doesn't deserve to breathe."

"Says the woman who took out four vehicles and a helicopter with... what was it, Fi? A coupla pieces of C4 and a sniper rifle?"

"I hope you're not comparing what I did to save Michael's family to what that evil -"

"Hey! All I'm sayin' is Mike isn't going to let you kill Carla just because she kidnapped Nate."

"He said-"

"What _did_ he say, exactly, Fi?"

"He said, I was right and he wanted to see me tonight."

"There you go. You were right. She can't be trusted. But that doesn't mean he won't work with her. You know Mikey."

Unfortunately she did and now, having heard Sam's reasoning, she felt deflated. Lifting the set of binoculars, she stared through them looking up at the second floor where Michael was pulling data off Security Associates computers.

 _So, maybe Sam was right. But that didn't mean she couldn't go off and find out who this mystery woman was all on her own. In some ways, it might be better if she did this by herself. Michael could be a little bit squeamish at times. Whereas she had no such compunction when the safety of her family was at stake._

They sat in silence for some time and her thoughts drifted away from plans of bloody murder and back on to her 'maybe' pregnancy. It was still only maybe, she kept reminding herself. She had the other test to take and with that one she was going to do it properly. She had checked on the internet and now knew the best time to do the test was first thing in the morning. So, that was what she intended to do, even though the waiting was driving her crazy.

"How do you think he's doing in there?" Sam suddenly broke the silence.

"It's Michael." She shrugged and feigned indifference, but secretly she was pleased to have a chance to take her mind off her other dilemma.

"So, er... look, Fi..." His awkwardness piqued her curiosity and she dropped the binoculars. "I've got to go back to Veronica explain where I've been and why I'm all beat to hell and what happened to the Caddy."

An evil grin sprung onto her lips and her eyes sparkled at the thought. If Michael wouldn't let her kill Carla, maybe watching Sam explain why he and his car were both in the state they were to his lady love could be a consolation prize. "Oh, I'd pay to watch that."

"Oh, come on, Fi, you're a girl. What do I say?"

"I'm your girl consultant now?" she mocked. "When did I sign up for that job?"

"Okay, fine, forget it. You know I've got lots of other friends with ovaries. I've got you -" His count came to an end and she took pity on him.

"Tell her you got beaten up defending a helpless man from a gang of ex-lowlife soldiers. It's true enough."

"Okay, so I'm the hero," he stated, already seeing how he was going to play the role.

"And the helpless man," she smirked at his expression.

Sam was about to reply when something caught his eye and all thoughts of verbal sparring disappeared. Two large black SUVs came to a stop outside the front doors of the building. They were watching and three men got out of each vehicle. Sam recognized Ryder Stahl leading the way inside.

"Somebody's working late; better let Mike know."

Even as he spoke Fiona was keying in a text message warning Michael he was about to have guests.

Then, seconds later, the alarms started to go off and flashing lights shone out from the second floor window.

"Should we -?" Sam started the engine, but Fiona put a hand on his arm stopping him from turning the wheel and giving away their position.

"Wait. We don't know -" Her words were cut off by a loud crack followed by glass flying out into the street across from where they sat.

Recovering from the sudden assault to their ears, both occupants of the Cadillac watched as two climbing ropes were thrown out of the window, the ends dangling onto the ground far below.

"Go!" Fiona ordered, bringing her gun up in case she needed to give covering fire. Her eyes never strayed from the two figures rappelling down the building, one in a controlled manner and the other ending up flat on his back, tangled in the rope.

As soon as Sam pulled up next to the curb, Michael pushed Jimmy into the back seat before launching himself in behind the computer programmer.

"Go, Sam!" Michael shouted as he pulled the door shut behind him.

"Are you okay? Did you get it?" Fiona leaned over the back seat as Sam pressed down on the gas, sending his beat up vehicle roaring off up the street and clear of the armed men leaning out of the second floor window where Michael and Jimmy had only been a few seconds earlier.

She ignored Jimmy, who was whining about his leg and his back, concentrating all her attention on Michael, her eyes skimming over his body looking for any sign of an injury.

"Yeah." He smiled back at her, his own eyes alight with the rush of adrenaline which came from surviving a mission. "We got it... Sam, get us back to the loft. Ryder gotta good look at both of us. We need to come up with a strategy for getting Jimmy out of the country."

"Mic-" She tried to remind him that he had asked her to stay overnight and now he was inviting Sam and Jimmy to stay too, but bit down on her lip as he turned back to her. His expression had lost the look of wild excitement and he was now back in spy mode, making plans for every outcome to their present predicament.

"Fi, I think we're going to need some explosives. Do you think -?"

She sighed and had to resist the urge to punch his lights out there and then. Just like Sam said, this was Michael Westen and with him the job always came first.

"Fine," She gritted her teeth and then turned to face the front. "Call me when you decide what you want blown up."

"Fi?" She could hear the confused hurt in his voice, as he failed yet again to realize what he was doing wrong.

"I'm fine, Michael. Let's get the job done first." She flashed him a quick upward curve of her lips, to let him know she was still on his side.

But that didn't stop her jumping out the Caddy as soon as Sam reached the gates to the loft. Without waiting to say goodbye, she marched straight over to where her own vehicle waited. Climbing into the SUV, she stamped down on the gas pedal to roar the engine and then drove away with the tires squealing, which in an automatic took a very heavy, determined foot.

She was wound tight and in no mood to go home and sit around until morning. So instead she took the Honda out along the South Dixie Highway to where she had one of her smaller storage units. Collecting half a dozen bricks of C4 and detonators, she was on her way back home when she pulled off onto a side street and came to a stop in a large parking lot in front of a dimly lit bar, which was frequented mostly by gun runners and smugglers called Benny's Place.

With one foot outside the vehicle, Fiona came to a stop. _What was she doing?_ Cursing under her breath she got back into the SUV and re-started the engine. _Now was not the time to go on a tear... If she couldn't get drunk, she was going to have to come up with some other way to relieve the tension._

Back home, with her C4 and detonator cord tucked out of sight in a special compartment built into her bedroom wall, Fiona went into her kitchen and got out a large glass mixing bowl. It had been a long time since she had hand-made her own explosives. C4 and Semtex were far more stable and just so handy to use. But 'baking,' as her daddy used to call it, was the one sure way she knew to calm the raging anger building up inside her.

As Fiona went through various cabinets and drawers in her compact kitchen, pulling out all the ingredients she needed, she had a distinct memory of being eight years old and how in a fury she had gone down into her daddy's basement after taking a bag of sugar from her mother's kitchen. Hurriedly mixing together sugar and fertilizer in slapdash amounts, it had been a piece of luck when Patrick Glenanne Sr went looking for his oldest daughter.

" _Baking requires a steady hand an' steadier nerves, darlin' girl," he had explained patiently, while at the same time taking the deadly concoction out of her hands and smothering her efforts with a neutralizing agent._

" _Ya have ta be in tha proper state o' mind befer ya begin..." he scolded softly, dropping onto his knees, so they faced each other eye to eye. "When yer handlin' such deadly ingredients, an' ya know one slip could see ya either soarin' wit' tha angels or fallin' inta tha fiery pits o' hades, depending on how ya've lived yar life, ya have ta forget everythin' but whot's in front o' ya. Make sure ya always remember thot, me darlin' girl..." Back on his feet, he had lifted her to sit on the work bench. "Now, who's upset ya so much ya wan' ta blow 'em inta tha next county?"_

Carefully adding the ingredients to the bowl, she used a wooden spoon to stir the resulting mixture into a blueish-grey paste. Then, once it had reached the required consistency, she put the bowl to one side and covered it with a clean tea cloth. Wiping a hand over her brow, Fiona sighed. Without her anger to fuel her, she was struck by an overwhelming tiredness.

Having disposed of the gloves she had worn while preparing the mixture, Fiona opened her fridge door and reached inside to get herself one of the cups of blueberry yogurt she had bought earlier in the day. Leaning against the counter top, she stared at the innocent looking bowl which held enough home-made explosive to blow up not only her own apartment, but the ones on either side of hers too.

 _If all went well, a goodly amount of the mixture would be used to spread the woman she only knew as Carla over a large part of Miami and then rest would be saved for the next unlucky soul who was foolish enough to endanger her baby's future._

With that thought, she checked the time again. It was four am. Picking up the second pregnancy test, she headed for the bathroom, undoing the packaging as she went. _It was morning as far as she was concerned._ _In Ireland, it was already 9 o'clock. It was good enough for her._

This second test was similar to the last one, though it only offered a positive or negative result, instead of giving her a clue as to when exactly her life had begun to change forever. Just like the first time, she paced back and forth while waiting, only this time she was praying for the positive symbol to be revealed. She had grown used to the idea of motherhood and a negative result would feel like a death to her.

She let go of a deep breath she hadn't even realized she was holding and laughed nervously as a double blue line showed in the handle of stick. _This was the final piece of evidence she needed and she accepted the role with trepidation and joy... Now she just had to hope Michael was going to feel the same way._

 **()()()()()()()()()()()**

Michael Westen awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and bakery goods. Opening his eyes, he sat up instantly on full alert. By the time they had gotten back to the loft after their heist and then gone over their options, it had been the early hours of the morning when Sam left to try to make things right with his present lady friend. Now it seemed he was back and, from the smile on his face, back in the good graces of the wealthy socialite, Veronica.

"Hey, Mikey, rise 'n shine, brother," The ex-SEAL greeted him as he began to pull boxes out of the large bag he had come in with. "I got us some fresh coffee here and some goodies straight outta the oven."

The mention of food attracted the attention of Michael's guest and the computer programmer slowly limped down the metal staircase from the lofts small upper level.

"Ooohh ,I think I sprained my body," Jimmy complained as he limped slowly down the steps from where he had spent the night on Michael's old couch.

"Hey, Jimmy, you wanna a coffee or maybe a beer? I tell ya, ya can't beat it. It did wonders for my ribs." Sam was semi-obscured from sight as he helped himself to a breakfast bottle of beer from Michael's fridge.

"You're fine." Michael told his grouchy 'client' as slowly got to his feet, slipping off the bed to investigate the tantalizing smell coming from the box of 'goodies' his best friend had brought with him.

"I don't want coffee or a beer. I just want my family back," Jimmy grumbled as he dropped down into the green leather chair beside the bed.

"We're working on it." Michael found a crumble-topped blueberry muffin and took a mouthful. The rich calorie-loaded treat wasn't his normal choice for a snack at any time of the day, but Fiona had taken his last blueberry yogurt and he had a feeling he was going to need a lot of energy by the end of the day.

"How are you working on it? Those guys from Security Associates saw us last night. They're going to kill me as soon as they get a chance." The younger man scowled as he watched the older of the two men supposedly trying to get his family back for him knock back nearly a whole bottle of beer in one gulp.

"Exactly and that makes them predicable and that's how we're going to solve your problem," The ex-spy explained before turning his attention to his best friend. "Sam can you get me a boat? Something disposable?"

"Disposable?" the former Navy man asked wiping a hand over his mouth and then his face brightened. "Oh yeah, I see where you're going. Yeah, I know a guy. He might have something we can use. It was a decent enough boat at one time, but it's infested with mold now. But it doesn't sound like it's gonna be around long enough to bother us."

"How's this going to solve my problem?" the computer genius demanded, looking from Michael to Sam and back again.

"These guys from Security Associates want to kill you," the dark haired man told him bluntly. "We need to give them the opportunity to do just that... Trust me. The heats that's on you, everyone thinking you're dead is gonna be the best thing that's ever happened to you."

Before Jimmy or Sam could ask him another question, Michael felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Opening the cover, he was pleased to see it was Fiona.

"Hang on a second, guys...Yeah, Fi."

"Michael, I got a delivery today. Someone was _kind_ enough to break into the trunk of my car."

"Yeah? What was it?" He finished the last of his muffin and picked up one of the hot steaming cups of coffee.

"A present from _your friends,_ " she answered cryptically. But just by her tone he could tell what she'd found and that she wasn't happy about strangers breaking into what she considered her property.

"Be careful with those Fi. They're very hot," he warned her.

"Oh, _I'll_ take good care of them, Michael. Oh, your mother keeps calling me... These last few days have been a lot for her to handle. She's asking if we've heard anything from Nate. Haven't you told her yet?"

"I've been putting off telling her. I don't want her worrying." Michael groaned silently.

"Tell her, Michael. She'll be even more hurt when she finds out later."

"Fine, I'll go over now."

With the call ended, Michael finished his coffee. _If all went well today, he would have Jimmy out of his hair and, with a bit of luck, he would get a face to face meeting with the elusive Carla. Being able to put a face to the name would be a small start to finding out who she was and who she worked for._

"Sam, get on to that boat. Then give Fi a call get her to meet you over there. Jimmy, just do what Sam says. I've gotta go see my mom." He was just going out through the door when he stopped and peered back inside. "Oh, do you know anyone who could get Jimmy here outta the country? The DR, or maybe the Bahamas?"

"I'll see what I can do, Mikey. Go see your mom."

 **()()**

When Michael arrived at his mother's house, the first thing he noticed was the side door which led into the kitchen was partially open. With his senses on high alert, he drew his gun and approached silently. He could hear the television on in the background and everything seemed to be peaceful.

Stepping cautiously in through the door, he came to a stop at the sight of his mother sitting on a chair in a position which allowed her to keep watch on both doors. Even without the overflowing ashtray at her side and the half smoked cigarette between her lipstick-smudged lips, he could tell she was worked up about something.

"You might want to slow down, mom." He wrinkled his nose at the smell and waved a hand in front of his face because of the cloud of smoke filling the narrow space.

"How, Michael, how can I cope? You tell me! I'm not sleeping. This business with the coffee-maker is -"

"This is about a coffee-maker?" He walked closer, talking from behind clenched teeth that he was dragged away at such an important time to deal with his mother's loss of a kitchen appliance.

"It isn't just that... Your brother, I haven't heard a word from Nate since he left me in Fort Lauderdale. He didn't think it was safe there or here."

Sucking in a breath, Michael dragged another chair over and sat down facing her. He hated seeing his mother upset. In fact, not seeing Madeline Westen upset was one of his main reasons for trying to keep a continent or two between them.

"Er, mom, I...er, Nate has been kidnapped by some people who want me to do a job for them. I've nearly got the job done, so it's going to be okay... I promise he will be back soon."

"What?!" Madeline screeched, jumping out her chair so fast she almost knocked it over. "They kidnapped your brother and you're, you're just sitting here? Why aren't you out there looking for him? Why aren't you doing something, Michael?"

"Mom...mom... stop," he said, taking the older woman by the shoulders and easing her back into the chair. "Nate will be fine."

"Fine?" she yelled, trying to get up again.

"Mom, they have Jimmy's family, too. They will all be fine as long as I get the kidnappers what they want. They can't hurt Nate or the others because they need me to finish this job for them."

"These people you're working for, are these the same people who chased us earlier?"

He nodded. "Yeah, mom, but I promise, I promise I'll get him back.

"What about me, Michael?" He was shocked at her response, before she quickly added. "What about Nate? What happens to us next time these people want you to do something else for them?" She paused, glaring at him, and all he could do was watch as she lit up another cigarette off the end of the one she had just finished. "All these years, Michael. All these years and I finally see what you do... You tell me I have to leave town at a minutes notice, I can't talk on the phone, men are chasing us _with guns – and helicopters_... They kidnap your brother... How am I supposed to deal with this?"

"All these years you've wondered why I didn't come home," he countered. "Why I didn't call? This is why, mom... I never wanted this for you, any of you, I'm sorry." He took a breath and continued before she could interrupt his flow; it was far better to get it all over in one go. "And I'm sorry, but when we get Nate back, we're going to have to have a talk..." He got to his feet and took a couple of steps towards the exit.

"A talk? About what, Michael?"

"Oh, about maybe you and Nate moving outta state." And he was gone before she could get to her feet and come after him.

"Michael! Get back here! Michael!"

He slammed the door on the Charger and was reversing off the drive as she came down the steps after him. _Well, that went better than I thought._ He smiled as he drove away.

He made it as far as the end of his mother's street when he got the call from Sam telling him where the boat they were going to use was moored and immediately headed off in that direction.

 **()()()()()()()()()**

Michael had been to this particular marina before. The first time he had done a job for Sam's friend and former commanding officer, Virgil Watkins. The boat they were going to use was moored in the exact spot where he and Fiona had talked their way onto the Donzi 27ZR speedboat that they had been sent to repossess.

A less suspicious man might have thought that it was all just a strange coincidence, but Michael wasn't that gullible. Taking where the boat was and that Sam had so easily found a friend who was not only fine with giving them an old boat to blow up, but also knew of another hopefully more seaworthy vessel to take Jimmy away from the US... Then adding those facts to his mother's smeared lipstick, which at the time he'd put down to her constant smoking and possibly shaking hand. He was now beginning to see a conspiracy.

"Sam!" He reached the ancient, mold infested boat and climbed on board. "Sam!"

"Hey, Mikey." The man in question stood up from where he had been sitting with their client. "What do you think? Think this will do the job? How did it go with your mom?"

"Where's Virgil?" The ex-spy asked, not bothering to hide his anger.

"Huh?"

Michael wasn't fooled for one second. He narrowed his eyes and continued to stare.

"Er, look, he came into town yesterday. I didn't tell ya because... Well, I know how get when Virge pays us a visit... But, I tell ya, Mikey, he came through for us. He didn't even ask why you wanted this old tub. He's a good guy."

Michael couldn't deny what he was being told, but he hated being lied to by his friends. Most of all, he hated the idea that former SEAL commander Virgil Watkins was spending time, any time whatsoever, with his mother.

"Get down to the entrance and call me when you see Ryder and his team arrive. And while you're waiting, call Virgil and tell him I said for him to stay away from my mom."

"Mike..." Sam made one last attempt to reason with his friend and then sadly nodded. "Okay, brother, I'll call him."

With Sam sent on his way, Michael took a couple of deep breaths and stared out into to sea while he calmed down. His mother's lipstick and now, when he looked back, he realized the kitchen door had probably been open because Virgil was hiding out in the garage. _Sam must have called to warn his mother's paramour as soon as he had left the loft..._

"Michael, you're here." Fiona appeared in the doorway which led down to the boats living quarters and galley.

He noticed the smile on her face, the one she always wore when she handled explosives and just looking at her lightened his mood.

"Just enough for the boat, Fi. Try not to break _all_ the windows in South Beach." He turned away, knowing she was pouting at his back, and his smile widened as he heard her moving around, removing some of the many pieces of C4 she must have wired up to the boat.

Taking a seat, he pulled out the phone he had taken off Jimmy at the airfield where they had met. Quickly putting the device back together, he held out the cell phone to the computer programmer.

"Jimmy, call Ryder."

"You're sure?" Jimmy took back the phone and nervously looked up at where Michael sat watching him through hooded eyes. "You said the cops will be listening in for this phone. That -"

"That's the point. Sam talked to you about it and you practiced it so, you make that call now."

"Okay." The younger man took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "I can do this," he added talking to himself before he dialed the number.

"Security Associates, please... I need to speak to Ryder; tell him it's Jimmy."

Michael barely heard any more of the call as he was distracted by Fiona coming out onto the deck, her snug fitting brown vest top and jeans making her look particularly lovely. This was a dangerous time and danger and explosives weren't just an aphrodisiac for the Irishwoman. _If Jimmy wasn't here..._

She stopped in front of him, standing in between his legs, her hands hidden behind her back. "All done," she held out the trigger switch for him to take and, when there hands touched, it was like a jolt of electricity passed between them.

"Thank you, Fi. Are you okay to plant those guns in Ryder's truck for me?"

"Of course, Michael," she murmured softly. "Anything to get this job finished as quickly as possible, so we can get to our little chat."

With that she leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on his lips. "See you soon, Michael." And then she turned and all he could do was sit and watch her glide away, gracefully like a cat as she climbed off the boat and ran along the jetty to wait for the arrival of the bad guys.

"Take care, Fi," he murmured softly. Then turned his attention to where Jimmy was standing, staring at his cellphone and hyperventilating.

"Good job, Jimmy." Michael got up and gave the younger man a congratulatory slap on the back. "Okay, let's get moving. It won't be long now and it'll all be over."

He knew they only had a maximum of maybe fifteen minutes before Ryder Stahl and his men turned up to tear Jimmy to pieces in their effort to get their stolen data back, so he encouraged the younger man to run along the jetty and onto another even older boat which looked like it had been abandoned years ago.

"When they get here, just remember what Sam told you. Stay calm and keep Ryder talking. That's all you've gotta do, Jimmy."

While they sat waiting for Sam to announce the arrival of the private military group, Michael couldn't help but study the man who Carla had forced into such a situation with no training and obviously without a care for his safety. A year ago, he would have done the same thing. Well... maybe not _exactly_ the same thing. But over the years he had used similar tactics to get assets to do what he wanted them to.

" _Mike, they've just turned into the entrance."_ Sam's voice sounded in his ear.

"Okay, Sam. Just stay back in case the cops don't get here in time."

" _Gotcha, brother."_

It was only moments later that Jimmy almost jumped out of his skin when his cell phone began to ring.

"Answer it and remember, keep him talking," Michael urged.

" _Jimmy, you wanna talk? We do it face to face. Come out or I'll come down to the boat."_

"How do I know you're unarmed?"

" _Why would I want to shoot you? I just want my data back."_

"Hold him off. Tell him to prove his unarmed," Michael hissed out his instructions.

"I don't believe you. Show me, show me you don't have a gun."

" _What do you want me to do?"_ Ryder opened his jacket wide but still kept coming forward. " _Here, see...Unarmed."_

Michael knew he was going to have to do something soon. Jimmy just lacked the conviction to make the other man believe his precious data was in danger. He liked Jimmy, but it didn't stop him grabbing hold of the younger man's arm and leaning in close. Then, with a voice filled with menace, he hissed into the computer genius's ear.

" _If_ he finds out _you're_ _not_ on that boat _before_ the ATF get here, _he_ _will_ track you down. He will go after _you_ and _your family_ for the rest of your life. Now, you _will_ do this now, do it."

Jimmy jerked his arm out of the grip of the ex-spy and, even though he was deathly pale and he shook with fear for his family, he tightened his hand around his phone. Glaring at the man who was supposed to be helping him, he spoke to the man on the dock.

"Stay back! You, you don't want your data o-over the internet do you? Well, don't take another step."

Both Jimmy and Michael let out a breath when Ryder came to a stop. Finally, the security consultant believed his information was in danger.

With growing confidence as Michael smiled encouragement at him, Jimmy continued to play the role of his life.

"Take off your clothes, the jacket and the pants. And then you can come."

They watched grinning as Ryder removed his jacket and threw it on the ground. _"I'm not taking my pants off."_

"I'm not messing around."

While keeping one eye on the angry mercenary, Michael was also watching out for the arrival of the ATF. It was with a little bit of disappointment when he gestured to Jimmy that the time to finish the game had come, as he spotted teams of men dressed in tactical kit stealthily surrounding Ryder's team.

"Neither am I."

" _I lied Jimmy. Want to see my gun? Here it is. Now, what am I going to do to you if you don't come out right now?"_

"Yeah, tell me, tell me what you're going to do."

Holding out the trigger switch to Jimmy, Michael flicked the safety off and gestured to the younger man to do the honors. With just a seconds hesitation, he took hold of the device and pressed down on the trigger.

The resulting _!BOOM!_ was very loud and extremely impressive as the boat was blown into so many pieces that, as the smoke cleared, they could see tiny little splinters of wood floating back into the water.

"So, we can go now?" Jimmy asked as he peered along the dockside to where Ryder was being held under the guns of half a dozen ATF agents.

"No, not yet. You can't be seen. Remember the rest of the world has to think you've just been blown to pieces. We'll hide out here until the investigators clear the scene. By then, it'll be dark and I'll take you straight to the boat waiting to take you away from here."

"How do you know -?"

"I promise, Jimmy. You'll be safe. Ryder is going to have a hard time explaining why they have got guns linked to a double homicide. He and his men are going to prison for a very long time, believe me."

"And my family?"

"Sam's friend is going to take you to Haiti tonight. You should be fine. The Coast Guard doesn't pay much attention to boats going _to_ _Haiti._ From there you'll fly to Argentina and you'll meet your family at the airport."

"You really think they'll be there?"

"I had a long talk with Carla this afternoon. She needs me for other things. If she doesn't keep her promises this time, she loses me as an asset. She'll free your family."

"And what about your brother? Is she going to free him, too?"

"Once I know you and your family are safe, I'll hand over the drive and get Nate back." He did his best to make it all sound easy.

They sat in silence, watching as the Coast Guard picked up the larger pieces of the boat which were scattered over the water. The investigation wouldn't last long, as there wasn't really enough left to be investigated. Fiona had made sure of that.

Eventually though, as darkness settled over the marina and the last police car drove away, Michael signalled it was time to go. "Come on, Jimmy. Haiti and your family await."

 **()()**

Mr Westen had expected to find a nervous looking Virgil waiting for him when he delivered his passenger to the marina and mooring number Sam had sent to him in a text. But instead he found a thin dark skinned man called Juan who spoke very little English.

"We go now. Mister Axe, he pay me. But we go _now._ "

"Take care, Jimmy. I'll be looking out for a message from you. I'm counting on you to let me know that Carla kept her end of the deal."

"I won't forget..." The computer genius was standing on the deck as Juan cast off. Then all of a sudden, Jimmy reached into his pockets. "Here take this." He threw a set of keys to Michael. "Thank you for all you've done. They're the keys to my car. It's a Saab, convertible, it's black. It's at my work."

"Thanks..." Michael waved goodbye. "Love convertibles, Jimmy... I'll take good care of it."

As the fishing boat slowly disappeared into the gloom, Michael walked back along the jetty and out of the marina. As he walked, he held the keys to Jimmy's car tightly in one hand wondering what he was going to do with a car that for him would be like sitting in a moving death trap.

By the time he made it back to where he had left the Charger and then driven back to the loft, the sun was just appearing on the horizon. He could see Fiona's present mode of transport, the white Honda SUV, sitting out on the road, leaving the space beside the stairs for his own vehicle. Before making his way inside, he glanced up and noticed the balcony doors were open and a light was showing through the window above the exterior staircase.

" _Time to talk,"_ he thought morosely. _He hated it when she was right about something. Carla did need to be dealt with, just not the way Fiona wanted to do it. But they had forever been at odds over tactics. Spies and guerillas just had different agendas when it came to dealing with ones enemies._

Taking his time, he walked slowly up the stairs like a man heading towards the gas chamber. Letting himself in, he noticed she had obviously been waiting for him all night. She was wearing a set of clothes she had left at the loft the last time she stayed over and her hair looked liked it had been washed, as the ends appeared to still be damp.

"Hey..." She glanced up briefly, her eyes flickering over him taking inventory. He knew in that one swift look she had confirmed he had suffered no new injuries. If he was expecting her to be furious about being left to wait all night, he was mistaken. She was as calm as the dawn. Sometimes though that was even more dangerous. The more determined she was, the more focused she got.

Until the inevitable explosion, that is.

He also noticed that she was spooning blueberry yogurt into her mouth while studying the screen of his laptop. Narrowing his eyes, Michael stepped around her, noting she had plugged in the thumb drive holding all the information they had stolen from Ryder Stahl. Opening the fridge door, he looked expectantly inside. If she was eating yogurt, it must mean...

"I've been here all night. When I saw you had nothing in there I wanted to eat, I went out and got myself something..." She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sorry, I only got myself three." She held out the spoon and half eaten cup. "Do you want to share?"

"No Fi, it's fine... I'll have some water." He pulled a bottle out from the fridge and twisted off the top. "What are you looking at?"

"Over five hundred files and every op looks pretty nasty. I'm glad you've decided to see sense." Fiona kept eye contact as she closed the lid, hiding the screen. " _We are_ going to do something about Carla, _aren't we,_ Michael?"

"Fi, I-" He hated it when they argued, argued like this anyway. It never ended well. "I got you something," Michael said quickly, hoping to if not circumvent the impeding conflict, at least contain the collateral damage she might do to his body.

Curiosity piqued, she hopped off the stool and stood in front of him as he dangled the keys to Jimmy's Saab in front of her. "It's a convertible," he offered.

"Thank you, Michael," she leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth. As her arms wrapped around him, he melted into her embrace, pleased that he had diverted her for the time being.

When they broke the kiss, she nipped his earlobe sharply and then whispered, "But that doesn't change the fact that you can't work with somebody like Carla. She lied to you, she kidnaps children and she went after your family! What do you think she's going to do the next she wants something from you?"

He put a little distance between them without releasing her just yet.

"I'm going to get Nate back and then I'm going to send him and my mom -" He tried to explain, but her Irish temper was already rising.

"Away?" Now she shoved him away, _hard_. "You're going to make your mother hide out? For how long? Forever? Until Carla kills you? No, we have to deal with this _now_."

Michael frowned, unsure where this level of passion had come from. Taking a long sip from the bottle to give himself time to think, he watched as she scowled back at him. _He wasn't up to a fight, especially one that would likely end up with her storming out and refusing to talk to him for days. But he already knew that's what was coming._

"Why now, Fi?" She looked back at him and he could see that there's more than she's been telling him.

"I- I thought I lost you the other day."

 _That wasn't what he had expected._ "I came back, Fi," he pointed out the obvious.

"You left, Michael. You had a choice to make and you made it... I always thought, maybe, when it came down to it... but you didn't."

"What are saying, Fi?" He was confused. He thought they were discussing Carla and now they were talking about something else; he just wasn't sure what.

He stiffened warily when, all of a sudden, she sighed and stepped towards him again. He shifted his own stance, waiting for a fist or a foot to come in his direction. _He hated these confrontations, but things were so much easier when he knew what they were fighting over._

"I'm saying that _if_ we're going to be together, there has to be some changes. I fell in love with Michael McBride and I've tried my damnest to be there for Michael Westen, but I can't do this any more. I need to know that we're in this together, like I thought we were back in Ireland."

"Fi, I'm sorry, but the people who burned me-"

"Need. To. Be. Dealt. With. _Now._ " she said, punctuating every word with a shake of her sharp finger at the end of his nose. "Thot's whot we did back in Belfast. We gave 'em a bloody nose and made 'em think twice abou' comin' after us again."

Suddenly, the fire of hatred over what happened in her homeland morphed into something else and her eyes were glistening with tears.

"Michael, you're free of the CIA and, once this is dealt with, you'll be free to get on with your life. I'm free from what the IRA expects and what my family expects. We're free to be just you and me. But if you don't want that, then there is no 'us.' I'll... I'll go me own way..."

"What?" He took her by the arms and stared into her eyes. "What's going on, Fi? What are you not telling me?"

"I want to know if you're with me or not, no more guessing games."

His hands slid up to her shoulders. "Not until you tell me what's really going here. No more guessing games," he demanded, flipping her own words around on her.

"I'm pregnant, Michael," she blurted the news out, unable to contain it any longer.

"Pregnant?" he repeated, his tone flat, while his mind was reeling, desperately trying to work out what this piece of news means for him, for her, for them.

She nodded, confirming his fear. Then he started paying closer attention, because there is a steely glint in her eye which always means trouble.

"I won't _let you_ put _our baby_ in danger, Michael. If this Carla woman finds out, you know what will happen. She has to go, Michael. And if you won't do it, _I will_. Whether you're with me or not." Angry moisture started leaking from her eyes. "And I will raise our baby, whether you're with me or not. So you better decide what it is you want. "

He had never heard her sound so determined about anything before.

For a moment, he was still, as the news he was to become a father found its place in his future plans and, strangely enough, in his heart. Then slowly he pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead.

"You're right, Fi. We'll do this your way."

"You mean it?"

"If we don't end this before... before Carla finds out, she will use our baby against me... Neither of you will ever be safe again."

"It will have to be big," she told him. "Big enough that it sends a message."

He kissed her again. "As big as you want..." He slumped down into the green leather chair by the bed, pulling her down with him into his lap.

"A baby? You're sure?"

"Positive...I took two tests. I'm sorry, I didn't do it on p-"

"I never thought that you would," he sighed. "We're going to have to get out of Miami... Er, Fi we need to -"

"Tell Sam and your mom, I know." She smiled. "But later... I know this isn't what you expected... it's not even what I expected... but it's what we talked about in Berlin and there's no reason it can't happen now if you'll just let it."

As her lips ravished his mouth while her fingers began to loosen his clothing, he returned the favor.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_ _This is the third part of the 2.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 19 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."_

 _()()()()()()_

 _An alternate for Season Two and beyond following on from 1.12 Loose Ends – Part 3_

 _()()()()()()_

Miami 2008

Michael rested his head back on his pillow and stared down at the woman sleeping peacefully snuggled up against his side. Pursing his lips, he tried to come to terms with the news she had imparted to him less than an hour earlier. His off again, on again girlfriend was pregnant with his child. He ran his eyes up and down her bare form and somehow just couldn't quite make himself believe that this was real. The lithe woman didn't look any different. But Michael knew things were going to be very different and all too soon.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he ran his fingers through her hair, curling several strands around his fingers. _Maybe he should get her somewhere safe, send her away. Then he could –_

He shook his head. _Fiona would never agree to go into hiding, not now, not ever._ It wasn't in her nature and, if he attempted to force the issue, he knew it would only make things worse. She wanted Carla dead, she wanted their baby to be safe and she wasn't in a mood to listen to anything he had to say on the subject.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You're awake," he remarked and smiled when she slid her naked body on top of him, her arms folded over on his chest, giving her a pillow of sorts to rest her chin upon.

"I was never asleep," the Irish woman countered, kissing the tip of his nose. "I was busy thinking about how we're going find Carla." There came another kiss, this one to his chin.

"And what have you come up with?" he asked before tangling his fingers in her hair and drawing her into a long slow kiss this time.

When they finally came up for air, her face was flushed and her eyes were wide. "I was –"

Her words were broken off as one of Michael's cell phones began to ring, the one Carla had left in the Charger for his use.

"Hold on, Fi. I gotta take this." He held the phone up to his ear as Fiona wriggled and maneuvered so she could put her ear close to the phone, ensuring she would hear every word spoken.

"Jimmy's family is on their way to Argentina as you requested, Michael." Carla didn't waste any time with pleasantries. "Now it's time for you to keep up your end of our bargain."

"Well, hello to you, too. Carla. You know, I'd _love_ to do that and as soon as Jimmy contacts me and tells me his family are safe, giving you what you want is at the top of my to do list." He shot Fiona a look of surprise as she jabbed a finger into his side.

"Glad to hear it, Michael. Your brother will be, too... I don't think he's been enjoying our hospitality very much."

"Just remember that deal we made only holds as long as Nate is unharmed. You hurt –"

"Michael, your brother's health is in _your_ hands." She chided. "Do as you're told and he will come back to you in the same condition he was in the last time you saw him."

"Fine, do I get a number to call when I hear from Jimmy?"

"No, I don't think so, Michael. I'm sure you'll be hearing from Jimmy today, so take an inside table in Carlito's at two pm and wait for me. Make sure you're on time. You know how I hate to be kept waiting."

"Oh, Carla, don't worry, I'll be there. Meeting you will be the highlight of my year."

With the call ended, Fiona sat up, still astride Michael, making no effort to hide her anger. "You were getting rather flirty there."

"Fi, I was..."

He grunted as she suddenly pushed herself off him and got to her feet.

"If I wasn't _already_ going to kill her, I'd be _very_ annoyed with you, Michael Westen." Stretching out her limbs, she gave him a good view of her body before she snatched up her clothes. "Speaking of which, I need to finish my preparations."

"Fi..." He sat up fast.

"I'll be careful, Michael. You should go and talk to your mom and Sam. Start arranging our exit strategy."

He watched as she dressed and then sauntered out of the door, closing it behind her. _How was he going to make this right?_ He didn't object to Fiona killing Carla, but just not before he had a chance to discover who she worked for.

By the time Michael was showered, dressed and getting ready to go out of the door himself, he was still no closer to coming up with a way to get the information he wanted from Carla while at the same time satisfying Fiona's need to protect their child. He had to admit there was quite a large part of him that fully understood his girlfriend's desire to commit homicide.

Locking the door, he ran lightly down the steps. _Maybe this one time he should allow that dark part of himself, which he normally kept locked away, to have free rein, just for a little while. After all, wasn't his job now to protect Fiona and their child?_

Once he was sitting in the Charger, the ex-spy started the engine and then paused, undecided on what to do first. All of a sudden, the decision whether to attempt to capture and interrogate Carla over Fiona's more simplistic _'kill and be done with it'_ strategy was no longer his biggest problem.

His stomach suddenly flipped and a wave of nausea came out of nowhere. Michael had been fine when Fiona had broken the news of his new role in life; the logical side of his brain had instantly taken control and just filed that piece of information away on the edge of his subconscious. But now that he was trying to decide who to tell first, it was abruptly right there at the fore of his thoughts and very, very real.

 _It was a baby, for Christ's sake, their baby!_ _How the hell were they going to do this?_

Mr Westen knew he knew nothing about babies; his experiences dealing with his younger brother hadn't come until Nate was a toddler and he hardly thought of himself as a good care giver whenever he'd even allow himself to think about such things. _And Fi_ … she was the second youngest in her own family and, when he looked back, he only had a couple of memories of her holding her nieces and nephews and he didn't remember her being particularly comfortable with that.

They could both keep a baby safe. He had no doubts about that, but actually taking care of the day to day needs of one...? He gulped when he realized he had the solution to their problem. _They were going to have to take his mom along with them_.

Now he really did feel nauseous. The mere thought of breaking the news to his mom that she was going to be a grandma was bad enough, but to have to let her know how badly he needed her at his side…?

Putting the car into drive, he headed away from the loft towards South Beach. He wasn't quite ready for the whole _talk-with-his-mom_ thing. Maybe breaking the news to Sam would be easier.

 **()()()()()()**

Sam Axe stood to one side and let Michael into his present abode, an eighth floor condo on South Beach, which he was sharing with the owner, his current lady friend Veronica.

"We've had a change of plans," Michael announced, walking straight out onto the balcony which overlooked a marina full of expensive yachts. He was so wrapped up in his own problems, he failed to notice Sam's bags were already packed and by the front door.

"When I make the trade for Nate, we're going to - retire Carla," The dark haired man continued as he stared out over the spectacular view.

"Retire? As in –?" Sam joined his friend on the terrace.

"Retire as in a good old fashioned 9mm retirement party."

"Are you sure about this, Mikey?" Sam sat down, dropping like a stone in to a chair next to the sliding glass door. "I mean, you do something like that and you're gonna have to go on the run, maybe forever."

Michael took a deep breath as butterflies rose in his stomach, then turned to face the older man. "Fiona's pregnant."

"Ahhh…." Sam looked at his friend's stricken features, trying to gain a clue if this was a congratulatory moment or a commiseration moment. Seeing the flush on the younger man's face and the verging on panic look in his eyes, the older man decided to take a middle ground and wait for more clues to how his friend really felt about impending fatherhood.

"So, I take it that Fiona –?"

"Fiona feels _very_ strongly that we need to remove anybody who is a threat... And, ah – I – er, have to agree with her tactical analysis of the situation."

"You know, Mikey, if you kill Carla, they'll just send somebody else after you. Wouldn't it better to send Fi somewhere? Couldn't she go back to Ireland? At least she'd be with..." His words faded at the frown that was coming his way.

"Mike, you're like a brother to me, but let's be honest here. How are you an' Fi gonna raise a kid? Fi's not that kinda girl and you certainly…" He broke off again. "You need a woman, someone who's had kids or at least has more training in changing diapers than in wiring detonators."

"That's the other thing. After we've dealt with Carla, we're gonna have to get out of Miami and – I'm gonna ask my mom to come with us."

"Your mom?" Sam couldn't help but chuckle. The glare he received in return only made the ex-SEAL smile even wider.

"You said it. We need somebody who knows something about the subject." Michael's scowl deepened over his friend's continued amusement at his expense. "You got any better ideas, Sam?"

"No, but you wanna go on the run with your mom? You gotta admit it sounds kinda weird."

"Tell me about it. This whole thing is already worse than weird." Michael headed in from the balcony as Sam got to his feet. "Can you find us a way out of the country to… I dunno... some place in the Caribbean? Somewhere we can lose ourselves in the islands, but with good healthcare still within reach?"

"Sure thing, Mikey, and hey, congratulations, brother…it is congratulations, right?"

"I only wish I knew, Sam… Part of me is… But I…I have to go tell my mom now."

Sam shook his head sympathetically as the door closed behind his friend. "Good luck, Mike."

 **()()()()()()**

Michael's hope that his mother would be out and he would get to delay informing her of her new status a little bit longer was dashed when she opened the front door as soon as he pulled up on the drive.

"So, are you here to explain to me what you meant about me and Nate leaving Florida?" she demanded as he walked past her and into the living room.

"There's been a change of plan, mom. Can you – can you put out the cigarette, please?" he requested, swiping the irritating fumes away from his face with one hand as she blew a plume of smoke in his general direction very much on purpose.

"No, I can't, not until you tell me what is going on," Madeline returned defiantly.

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. "Fiona is pregnant – and I'm the father."

"Oh, honey, this is the best thing you've ever told me!" The cigarette was discarded into a nearby ashtray and he found himself in a vice like grip as his mother hugged him.

"Why isn't Fiona here? You should have at least brought her along with you. You two are together still?"

Michael stood stiffly, his mother continuing with her interrogation whilst squeezing the life out of him. When she finally paused to take a breath, he worked on disentangling himself from her grip and, taking hold of her shoulders, he kept her at arm's length.

"Mom, do you remember what I said earlier about you having to leave? Well, how do you feel about coming along with me and Fi and Sam? I won't lie to you. You could be gone a very long time. There's a chance you might not be able to come back at all."

"What are you saying? I wouldn't be able to come back here, not ever? This is my home, Michael... And if I say no?" she asked in a small voice.

"You might not see us again. We might," he shrugged, deliberately down playing what he knew to be the truth. "It depends on a few things, but there's a good chance we might not ever be able to come back to Miami."

"And Nate? What about your brother, Michael? Does he get to come, too?"

"If he wants to," her older son answered casually. "But I can't see him wanting to be stuck somewhere quiet and boring with a baby. Can you?"

"You're making me chose between my sons," Madeline complained. "If I say no, I could lose you again and never get a chance to see my grandchild. But if I say yes, I lose Nate. This isn't fair, Michael."

"No, it's not." The dark haired ex-spy shook his head. "A lot of things aren't fair, are they? None of us asked to be…" Michael looked like he wanted to say more, but cut himself off. "You only have a day or two at most to decide. But _whatever_ you chose, you have to get ready to leave now and you can't make it obvious. You can't tell anyone. You don't turn off any of the utilities or cancel your newspaper. You just have to keep doing everything you normally do."

"But – "

"If you tell anybody, or do anything out of the ordinary, you could endanger us all." He stared into her eyes intensely.

"Okay, Michael. I understand. I'll pack a couple of bags. How long will we be gone?"

He sighed internally. _What part of might never come back was unclear?_ He knew the chances were he and Fiona _would_ never come back. They would be on the run forever. The CIA had ordered him to stay in Miami and he was breaking that order. So depending on how determined they were to have him back where they could see him...

"I don't know, mom. It could be a very long time. Pack light like you're just going on a short cruise and I'll buy you anything you need when we get where we're going."

 **()()()()()()**

When Michael got back to the loft, he found Sam and Fiona facing each other over the work top arguing, which was not unusual except for the subject matter. As soon as the former spy walked through the door, it was obvious what had caused this latest dust up: Sam had discovered Fiona's somewhat extreme plans for Carla's demise. The evidence was the home made car bomb and the RPG that were laying in plain sight and that was before he started paying closer attention to the discussion going on in what passed for his kitchen.

"I've seen what these things do. You use that outside Carlitos' at two in the afternoon when the place is packed, you're gonna kill a lot of innocent people with _that._ " He growled as he pointed to the wooden box sitting innocuously on Michael's bed that was holding the bomb.

"No, I am not. Don't take me for a fool, Sam Axe. I grew up making and setting these things. I know what I'm doing! I could do it in me sleep."

"Well, count me out, lady, cuz I'm not blowing a car to hell an' back in the middle of South Beach."

" _You_ won't be doing anything..."

"Hey, hey guys, what's the problem?" Michael stepped between his warring friends, slapping his hands down on the work top.

"Psycho mommy dearest here wants to plant a car bomb on Carla's vehicle..." Sam glared at Fiona before turning back to his more reasonable friend. "I mean, first off, how do you plan on getting that thing on or in the car without being seen? And then, if you manage that miracle without starting a fire-fight in the middle of the street, what about when it blows? It's not just gonna take out the target... Mike, it's a dirty game you're fixing to play."

"It's not a bloody game, Sam! I'm protecting me family!" Fiona spat out." And if you've not got the guts for all-out war, then you should-" Michael had to slip his arm around her waist to stop her from attacking the former Naval commander.

"Fi, Fiona... Just – just shush."

"You're shushing ME!"

With a scowl, she broke free of him and went out onto the balcony.

"Sam, Fi's right. We have to send Carla's bosses a message. Make them think twice about coming after us. I'm sorry. If you don't want to be involved in this, I understand."

"I thought after you got rid of Carla, you were still gonna be looking for a way back in, Mikey. If you do this, no agency will ever touch you."

"I know Sam, but what else can I do? If there was some other way…" He glanced to where Fiona was pointedly ignoring them, staring out over the low concrete wall at the river below.

"No, I get it," he sighed, although by his expression, the older man clearly didn't want to. "Once the news breaks about Fiona's _condition_ , you'll both have a bull's-eye on your backs. Yea, you need to make it big," Mr Axe agreed reluctantly. "But let's just figure out a way to hold down the collateral damage, okay?"

"So, you're with us?"

Sam sighed again. "Yeah, brother, I'm with you." He suddenly brightened. "Hey, I got us a ride. We're goin' to Antigua. Virgil has just started up a business there. He's gonna be runnin' charters between the Bahamas and a place called Harmony Hall, so he has a house we can hideout in."

"Virgil?" Michael was clearly pained by this option. "Isn't there anybody else you can…?"

"Sorry, Mikey, not on such short notice... But, hey, it'll be fine. You won't have to see him at all once we're at sea and he'll be happy to keep your mom outta your hair too, right?"

Mr Westen was not thrilled with his options at all. But he supposed if he could work with the scum of the earth to get his missions accomplished for the CIA, he could tolerate Virgil Watkins.

 _Maybe._

 **()()()()()()**

At half past one, Michael and Sam sat at the only inside table available at Carlitos cafe and bar. Right next to one of the doors, it gave them a good view of the street and of the interior. It's only down side was that every couple of minutes, somebody pushed past them on their way in or out of the bar.

Staring at the photograph on his phone, Michael couldn't help the small wistful smile that formed on his lips. Jimmy looked so happy and relaxed with one arm around his wife's shoulder and the other holding onto his child, a pretty dark haired girl of about five or six. However hard he stared at the picture though, he just couldn't ever see himself and Fiona posed like that.

Sam leaned in to see what held his friend's interest. "Just think, brother, after five years of civilian life, you know, the whole wife and kids thing, you might be able to pull off that sorta look too."

"Maybe, but I doubt it," Michael replied softly and then he closed the picture and went back to studying the other customers. "You see any possibilities?"

"Gee, I don't know, Mikey. I mean, all we have to go on is a smoking hot voice. But that little filly over there has been sitting at the bar for as long as we've been here." He gestured with a barely perceptible nod at a slender blond in a sun dress, sipping on what looked like iced water. "Want me to go check out what she sounds like? You know, work up a little Sam Axe magic so you can hear her voice?"

"What does Veronica have to say about you working your magic on other women?"

"Oh, well… Ronnie still hasn't got over what you did to the Caddy... I'm thinking that relationship may have run aground and it's time to head into deep water again... so, ah, the blonde, Mikey?"

"Go for it, Sam. You can get the next round."

The former SEAL was on his feet in an instant, picking up his empty bottle and his friend's glass. "One beer and one iced tea coming up," he announced cheerfully, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Up close, Sam could see his target was working on a crossword puzzle. While he waited for one of the busy bar staff to come over to serve him, he leaned in close to look over her shoulder.

"I think four across is 'beets.' That looks like a tough one." He batted his eyelashes as he glanced at the puzzle.

"I don't know… I'm getting through it." She smiled back and then turned slightly so she could look at him in the eye.

"Well, if you need _any_ help, I'm right over there." He pointed to where Michael was sitting watching and listening.

He noticed how she looked over to where he pointed, her gaze only briefly falling on his friend. "I was just leaving actually, maybe next time?"

"Next time, sure... I'm always around." Taking the drinks which had just arrived in front of him, he gave her one more flirty smile before walking back to the table.

"Wow, that's a real firecracker there," he commented as he took his seat.

"You think so, Sam?" Michael inclined his head and that was when the ex-SEAL realized the lady in question had followed him over to the table.

"Nice to see you, Michael… nice public place…" Carla pulled a chair out and sat down, facing them both. "I hope you have something for me?"

"Carla," Mike smiled back toothily, "So _nice_ to finally get to put a face to the voice." And then he slid the stolen information across the table towards her. But before she could take it, he put a hand over the thumb drive. "And you have something for me?"

Reaching slowly into her purse, the slender blonde retrieved her cell phone and placed a call.

"Bring him around front."

Within seconds, a black four-door sedan pulled up outside Carlitos and Nate Westen, a little dishevelled but none worse for the wear, emerged from the back of the vehicle.

"There, happy?" Carla asked.

"Ecstatic... Sam...?"

Instantly, the former SEAL was on his feet and moving towards the younger Mr. Westen. Without uttering a word, he escorted Nate clear of what could soon become a free-fire zone.

"You have your brother, you can see he is unhurt and now the drive, Michael." Carla's tone hardened and she held out her hand as Nate and Sam Axe neatly disappeared into the crowded street.

"Here…" Michael took hold of her wrist lightly and dropped the drive into her upturned palm, while giving her his very best charming smile.

"Good boy," she intoned, pulling her arm from his grasp. "We'll be in touch soon... You have a bright future ahead of you, Michael."

"Oh, I know," he replied confidently. Over her shoulder, he watched two scantily clad women Fiona had paid keep the driver and bodyguard occupied while another slender blonde, wearing a baseball cap and large sunglasses, stopped behind the sedan and laced up her shoes before quickly walking off.

His handler was about to turn away when he caught hold of her hand again. "You should really forget about using me ever again. The next time you threaten my family –"

She smiled, barring her teeth while her eyes sparkled with spite. "The next time, if I have to, I won't just threaten, Michael. You need to accept that you work for us now and, if you're a very good boy, you'll find us more than generous."

"Goodbye, Carla." He let go of her hand. The blonde stepped away and then looked back at the former covert operative for a moment before tossing her head around and stepping back towards her waiting transportation. Michael wondered if she had picked up on the finality of his farewell, not that it mattered much if she had. He waited until she got into the back of the vehicle and it moved away from the pavement.

As soon as the long Lincoln moved out of sight, Michael ran out down the street and over to where Fiona and Sam waited for him in Jimmy's black Saab with the rooftop down. As soon as he dropped into the front seat, Sam gunned the engine and they took off after the sedan.

"Where's Nate? How is he?" Michael asked as he twisted around in his seat to watch Fiona, who was sitting with a smile on her face and cradling the loaded rocket launcher in her arms and balancing a tablet, which was displaying the route being taken by the Lincoln town car with Carla inside.

"I told him the score and sent him down to the dock to see your mom... Oh, Virge picked her up earlier. Your ma told the old gal next door she was off for a romantic picnic and not to tell you if you came around looking for her... I tell ya, your mom's really getting into the spirit of things, Mikey."

Michael bit down on his bottom lip as he glanced from Fiona to Sam and realized they were both laughing at him as they followed their quarry's vehicle at a distance towards the Julia Tuttle Causeway. "Let's just get this over with, please?"

A few minutes later, traveling down the 112, Fiona tapped Sam on his shoulder. "She's coming up on I-95 on-ramp. If she goes north, there's nothing much there except the overpasses and we can head south."

"Okay, let's get this over with." Reluctantly Sam pressed down on the gas pedal and maneuvered the Saab closer to their target. "But if there's too many other cars with her, we're not doing this here," he warned.

"Hold it steady, Sam," Michael ordered as he knelt in his seat facing backwards, his arms wrapping around Fiona's hips to help steady the Irishwoman as she stood up and raised the rocket propelled grenade launcher onto her shoulder.

"Hurry up, Tinkerbelle," Sam demanded. "You got an opening in traffic! Take the shot!"

"Going as fast as I can," she sang back at him as she lined up the sights and activated the trigger.

The whooshing roar of the grenade caused all three of them to wince and then duck, as the car containing Carla and her henchmen erupted into a fireball, spraying burning metal in all directions.

They instinctively got down, each as low as they could, Michael almost leaping over the back of his seat in an effort to cover Fiona's body with his own. The pair was flattened against the back seat as the ex-SEAL floored it and sent the Saab squealing down the entrance ramp to I-95. With the cars behind them screeching to a halt to watch the burning wreck on the other entrance ramp, no one was paying much attention to the convertible whizzing away.

"Good thing the registered owner of this car is already dead," Michael commented as he lay next to his girlfriend in the rear seat of Jimmy's vehicle.

"That was fun," Fiona whispered, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I can almost forgive you for making me plant a tracker on her car rather than one of my little home-made presents."

With her enemy dead and spectacularly so and the man she loved by her side, literally and figuratively, she felt she could be magnanimous towards the man driving them to freedom. Capturing her lover's mouth in a bruising kiss, she could barely contain her happiness.

"That's enough outta you two back there," Sam groused as he headed towards the fishing pier and their ticket to freedom.

 **()()()()()()**

Fiona Glenanne leaned out over the side of the Sea Mistress II, watching the Bahamian coastline slowly fade from view. This five cabin, not-quite-a-year-old luxury yacht was a big upgrade from the two berth fishing boat Virgil had had waiting for them at the end of the jetty of a quiet, low-key marina just outside Miami three days earlier.

Gathering up her long auburn locks as they were whipped about in the strong breeze, Fiona tied her tousled tresses back with a hair band she usually kept about her wrist. Yes, that first couple of days travel had not been fun for anybody – well, except maybe for Sam Axe.

She looked along the deck to where the man in question was standing near the bow of the yacht facing into the wind, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Sam Axe truly had been the only one of their little group to be happy crammed together on the fishing boat which had taken them from Miami to the Bahamas in just over a day and a half. Narrowing her eyes, she watched as the former SEAL suddenly burst out laughing, sounding totally at ease as he joked with Virgil, who she noticed was standing on the other side of her friend. Yes, this was a whole new side of Sam she hadn't seen before, not even when he managed to finagle a top of the line car away from some gullible female.

With both the former navy men lazing about and chatting like they didn't have a care in the world, that meant the love of her life, and father to her child, had to be the one steering the large yacht, which given how he had been acting was probably the best place for him.

As soon as they had boarded the fishing boat, she had noticed a change come over the dark haired ex-spy. She had seen him before in the throes of the post mission blues, when a dangerous assignment was over and all the adrenaline and pent up stress suddenly had nowhere to go.

But this was more than the come-down from an adrenaline high. Michael had barely spoken a word to any of them and, when he did speak, the words that came out of his mouth were invariably snarky or just plain downright rude. She glanced up at the control room on the upper deck of the Sea Mistress II.

She knew what was wrong with him and was trying to be understanding. He had thrown away any chance of finding out who had burned him by killing Carla and destroyed all hope of getting back into the CIAs good graces by his actions and fleeing his home town and he had done it all for her. But that was no excuse in her book for such ill-mannered behavior and, if he didn't stop sulking soon, she was going to throw him over the side and make him swim the rest of the way to Antigua.

"Oh, Virgil, this is so much better... I had the best night's sleep."

Fiona turned her attention to the other Westen on board. Madeline swept onto the deck, an image of gaiety in matching white linen pants and a sleeveless top, accessorized with a flowing knee-length fuchsia over-shirt and matching earrings, necklaces and bangles.

"Now, what can I get you boys for breakfast?"

Fiona watched with a hint of amusement as Mrs Westen carefully made sure her son wasn't lurking nearby before placing a chaste kiss to Mr Watkins' cheek.

"What d'ya think, Sammy? We've got sausage or bacon to go with the eggs and coffee strong enough to melt the silverware to go with the toast." Virgil chuckled about the stout way the morning joe was typically prepared in the Navy.

Mr Axe looked from the older woman's expectant face and then back to his friend's eager one before casting a sidelong glance at Fiona.

"Why don't you boys take care of breakfast and Madeline and I will do the dishes?" Ms Glenanne called out.

The Irishwoman wanted to chuckle at the expression of relief and gratitude on Sam's face. They both knew how erratic Mrs Westen's cooking could be. The woman could burn water.

"Yeah, why don't we do that? I'll see if I can find some potatoes for hash browns and maybe a Spanish omelette for Fi." Sam started guiding them towards the galley.

"Egg white only," she called out.

Maddie turned towards the man who was destined to be her new beau if she had anything to say about it and asked, "Where's Michael? Should we get him a cup of coffee or something?"

"Oh, I would leave him be for now, sweet thing," the older ex-SEAL suggested. "That boy of yours needs some alone time to decompress. We've seen it a lot on the teams, haven't we, Sammy? Let him be for a couple of days and he'll be as right as rain."

Fiona pursed her lips… _alone time to decompress_... She felt a hot flush creep up her neck and over her cheeks, as she remembered how she and Michael usually _'decompressed.'_

"Fiona, dear, are you coming inside for some breakfast?"

"Er, no..." the younger woman called back, her thoughts firmly fixating on the control room where her lover was no doubt in need of blowing off some steam. "I think I'll go and see if Michael wants coffee or something to eat."

"Well, you let me know if he wants something," Madeline called back before she disappeared back inside.

It had been Mrs Westen who had been the main cause for their change of course from making a direct run to Antigua to taking a detour to Virgil's home base near Freeport on the island of Grand Bahamas. On such a small vessel, with Michael's bad tempered pouting already making everybody uncomfortable, there had only been so much of the older woman's whining they could all take.

The whining, it turned out, had all been part of a stunning performance of masterful manipulation on the part of Michael's mother. After six hours of listening to the blonde complain about the lack of space and how the hard molded plastic seats hurt her back and how the rolling of the tiny little boat was setting off her vertigo, she had eventually retired to the single cramped cabin.

It was then Fiona had discovered, during a private little night chat in the twin berth cabin all alone before the two women went to sleep, that while she, Sam and Michael had been off creating a little bit of mayhem, Madeline and Vigil had spent quite a few hours sitting on the fishing pier off of Southwest 27th Avenue in Coconut Grove, holding hands and watching a few yachts come and go from the harbor.

And while they had sat there, Mr Watkins had told his 'little sweet thing' all about his repo business and the fancy luxury yacht he had tied up in a secure berth, just waiting to be picked up next week by a finance company based in the Dominican Republic. So, after a few hours stuck on the small fishing boat only designed for two or at a push three people, the Westen matriarch had made an executive decision that they all needed something bigger and set about getting them all a more comfortable ride in her own unique way.

Reaching the control room, Fiona looked inside to catch Michael lost in thought, staring out of the window at the gently rolling sea. As soon as she stepped into the room, he turned quickly and then smiled softly back at her.

"What you doing up here, Fi?" he asked.

"I came to see you, to see if you wanted any breakfast – or – a bite of something else…?" she added playfully. Stopping in front of him, the petite woman waited expectantly for the warm embrace and urgent kiss which should have followed her open invitation.

Instead she watched with disappointment as the smile faded to be replaced by a cold guarded expression he usually reserved for unwelcome guests.

"Fi, my mom, Virgil – _anyone_ could come up here." He gave her a gentle peck on the cheek and returned to his study of the sea. "You should go, get some rest."

"Get some rest? I'm not sick, Michael, I'm pregnant, and you've been acting like a spoilt brat. I think you need to let loose. Remember how we used to let loose in Belfast? Dublin?" She reached for the belt loops on the waistband of his jeans, intending to pull him closer when he grabbed hold of her wrists, gripping her tightly.

"I'm fine, Fi, let it go," he ground out the words and she saw a spark of anger in his eyes and her smile widened.

"You're not fine." She jerked her hands free. "You've been acting like a total jerk... You've got everyone walking on eggshells around you." And then she swung a punch, aiming squarely for his jaw.

He blocked her attack and took two steps back, holding out his hands to ward her off. "Fi… Fiona, stop it. We can't! You… you're –" He blinked slowly and cautiously lowered his hands. "I am _not_ fighting with you... I just need some time to adjust, that's all. Okay?"

"We did the right thing, Michael. Carla had to go and, if we had stayed in Miami, her masters would have come after us all. I'm sure they found every one of the presents we left for them."

"I know that. I don't regret what we did... But I- I don't know if..." He shook his head and looked away, going back to staring out of the window. "Just give me some time, please."

"All right, Michael. Will you at least come and eat breakfast with me?"

"Yeah… Later, Fi."

She paused by the door, hoping that he would send a glance her way, or at least invite her to stay, but he didn't. After a moment, she turned away, letting the door slam closed behind her.

 **()()()()()()**

Over the next three days, Fiona could only watch as Michael withdrew deeper into himself. She wished there was something she could do to pull of him out of his foul mood, but his lover couldn't come up with an answer.

Before the pregnancy, when he started pouting like this, she would annoy him and push him until they ended up in a vigorous sparring match followed by some equally rough and energetic love making. But Michael refused to be drawn in to the game and, if she was honest with herself, there was no way she was up to their usual activities.

When they finally reached Antigua, they took a half day to travel down the eastern coast until Virgil guided the large yacht though a channel between the mainland and Green Island and tied up at a single jetty close to the lip of Nonsuch Bay.

"We're gonna have to walk, folks, but it's not far." Mr Watkins helped Madeline disembark, his large hand holding onto her arm far longer than the blonde needed as an aid for balance, but nowhere near as long as she would have liked.

"Harmony Hall is just a short walk up that way." He pointed along a sandy pathway lined with long grass. "But we're going this way." He indicated a narrow track that disappeared amongst thick foliage.

A short walk later, they entered an overgrown clearing, filled with weeds, a couple of upturned, busted-up boats and a rusted 50's era sedan with four flat tires.

"This place has been empty for a couple of years. It belonged to my old business partner, Jay Flores, but he got cancer and, well, he went back home for treatment, but he died six months ago. He left the place to his daughter, but she's busy working for some big medical relief charity and she just told me to do whatever I wanted to with it, that it was mine. So, I guess you can stay as long as you like."

They stood at the end of an overgrown path looking at a ramshackle two storey brick and wood built house. There was a covered, wrap-around veranda with several gaping holes in it.

"It's gonna need a bit of work, but nothin' a super-spy and a couple of SEAL's can't handle."

The windows were cracked and covered in dirt. The screen door was hanging off its hinges and the door behind it was so badly warped that, when Virgil went to show them the inside, Michael had to use his shoulder and a sharp kick to get it to open.

Inside was worse than the outside, but at least the few pieces furniture inside had been covered with sheets. Virgil seemed oblivious to the discomfort of the rest of the group.

"There's just the two rooms down here, well, three if you include the lean-to at the back of the kitchen. Upstairs, there's three big bedrooms, so there's plenty of room for ya'll."

Madeline tried a light switch, but nothing happened. Michael had moved into the kitchen and attempted to turn on a tap which, apart from marking some suspicious rattles, creaks and groans, produced no water.

"Isn't there a hotel nearby?" the blonde asked, looking about the place with a mixture of fear and disgust. "Or couldn't we stay on the boat?"

"The yacht has to go back, darlin'. The creditors will be comin' for it any day now. There's plenty of hotels, but they're all a bit pricey. Why don't you two little ladies stay here and we'll go straighten out the electrical. The generator just needs a bit of attention, that's all, an' the plumbing? Well, I dare say that's just a blockage somewhere in the pipes. C'mon, guys…"

"Virgil," Mr Westen growled through clenched teeth. "We can't. Fiona cannot stay here. There's dust and mold..."

"Okay, so, how about Fi and your mom book into a hotel while we clean this place up?" Sam interjected, trying to stay upbeat and smooth the situation over. "What d'ya say, Mikey? We haven't got the cash for us all to stay in the lap of luxury. But I'm pretty sure we can have this place looking half decent in a coupla days."

They all waited as the former spy glanced about the filthy, ramshackle house. They really had nowhere else to go. He sighed and dropped his gaze to the floorboards, some of which were so rotten they really shouldn't have been standing on them.

"Fine," Michael snapped at last without bothering to look at any of them. He couldn't bear to see their expectant faces. "What have we got to lose?"

But as he stared down at his shoes, burned, out in the cold and with no hope of getting back in while his own government and a terrorist organization were hunting him, what was he was really thinking was: _What have I got left to lose?_

And the answer would surprise him.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**_ _This is the fourth part of the 2.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 20 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."_

 _()()()()()()_

 _An alternate for Season Two and beyond following on from 1.12 Loose Ends – Part 4_

 _()()()()()()_

Near Harmony Hall, Antigua 2008

As soon as Michael gave his approval to staying at the ramshackle house, Sam enthusiastically clapped his hands together and started to come up with a plan of action, breaking the tension in the room being priority number one.

"Okay dokey, let's get this show on the road... Say Virge, while me an' Mikey take a look around and make a "To Do" list, why don't you show the girls to the nearest hotel? You know, one that… ah… won't ask too many questions…."

Michael looked up. He knew exactly what Sam was saying. Fiona had a false passport in her possession. She would have no trouble booking into any hotel on the Island, but he had never bothered to furnish his mother with a fake ID and right now if the name Westen flashed up on any immigration computer screen, it would bring trouble straight to their door.

"Sure thing, Sammy... I'll pick up a few bits and pieces for you boys too and some fuel for that old generator... Ladies...?"

Michael blinked and narrowed his eyes as he watched his mother walk swiftly over to Virgil's side. _She was far too eager to follow that over the hill_ _troublemaker around... What the hell was it with his mom and reprobates?_

"Michael, I should stay," Fiona suggested. "While you and Sam do all the heavy lifting, I could make a start in here." As she spoke, Ms. Glenanne ran her palm over the kitchen counter top and then held it up, showing the dust and dirt that turned her palm black.

At her words, he immediately forgot about his mother and her admirer and turned his full attention on the woman who he had given everything up for. He crossed the room in three quick strides and stopped in front of her.

"You can't be here, Fi." He took hold of her hand and wiped it on his shirt in his haste to get the accumulated filth off her palm. "It's not just some dust. It could be toxic mold, it could be dangerous," he admonished, seeing that stubborn look he knew all too well coming into her eyes. "You know I'm right. You can't stay here, not until we get the place cleaned up."

"You want me to go because it's dangerous here?" she asked coolly, as she took back her hand. Folding her arms over her chest, Fiona tried to rein in her temper, knowing that he was going through a huge adjustment, but feeling the weight of all his perceived rejections of her over these past three days settle upon her again. "Are you sure that's the only reason, Michael?"

"We blew up half of Miami to keep to our child safe and you want to take the risk of staying in this dump?" he blurted out, his outburst surprising even himself.

Simmering tension, which during the last few days had been threatening to overflow every time they touched, had come to a boil. Michael knew she was frustrated and confused by his attitude, but she was making no effort to understand what he had given up. He had nothing now and he had thrown away any chance of getting his old life back and he had done it all for her and their baby. _What was she thinking, wanting to stay in this cesspool?_

The auburn haired woman opened her mouth to reply, but all of a sudden Sam was speaking over the top of them both, while Madeline and Virgil stood by in awkward silence.

"Say, Virge, that Harmony Hall, one of my lady friends told me that place was like the art district of the whole island or something. Isn't your office right around there somewhere? Maybe we can clean up and then all meet up for a drink there when we're done here?"

The former SEAL was doing his best to keep the peace and Mr Westen sent him a look of apology and gratitude.

"Yeah, yeah, it's a real artists' paradise round there. You can't move without comin' across one exhibition or another," Virgil replied. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he openly stared at the object of his affection. "Not my thing really, I prefer something I can _touch_."

Sam winced and shot a glance at the dark haired spy, but luckily Michael's attention was totally focused on his fiery Irish girlfriend and he failed to notice the older couple had linked hands, their fingers entwined.

"Please, just _go_ with them, Fiona," he pleaded with his voice and his eyes.

"Fine," she retorted, staring hard back at him. "If that's what you want, Michael, then I'll _just go_." Fiona waited for a response from her taciturn lover. But then when Michael refused to been drawn in, she pushed past him, making for the door. "Come along, Madeline, the _menfolk_ have work to do."

As the two women walked out, Virgil shrugged his shoulders and followed after them. Just as he reached the door, he looked back. "Ah, the shut off valve for the water main is out in the yard, round the back somewhere. I'm sure you boys will find it."

Left on their own, Sam clapped his younger friend on the shoulder and directed him towards the kitchen area and then out the door at the back of the house. "Let's go find that shut off valve, Mikey. The sooner we get water and power to this place, the easier it will be to get it shipshape and the sooner I can get to sampling the local brews and checking out the senoritas."

Fighting their way through the long grass and tangle of weeds, the two men searched for fifteen minutes until they found a rusted metal cover in the ground. Once the cover was removed, the pair looked into the small narrow hole at the corroded valve and handle inside.

"So, how are you doin', brother?" Sam asked sympathetically, giving his friend a sideways glance as they worked on freeing up the main valve to the shut off. "You've been kinda out of it since leavin' Miami."

"I'm fi-" Michael stopped working and sighed, then got off his knees and stood upright. "Honestly, Sam, I don't know _what_ I'm doing, never mind _how_ I'm doing." He ran a hand through his short dark hair. "I know we had to neutralize Carla. She kidnapped Jimmy's kid and I'm pretty sure she would have hurt her if we hadn't got the job done. If Carla had gotten the chance to find out about Fi-" He shuddered at the thought.

"But now you've blown all your chances of finding out who burned you and why."

"Yeah, exactly," Michael agreed, nodding emphatically. "And I'm never going to get back in with the CIA, not now, especially not after what we left behind."

They had known that whoever the sadistic blonde worked for would not let her assassination go unanswered. So before they had left the loft for the meeting at Carlitos, Fiona had been given free rein with her homemade explosive mixture.

The former guerrilla had taken the bomb she had designed to blow up Carla's vehicle and instead had wired the device up to the doors which led out onto the small balcony. Then she had wired up a smaller device to the skylight and the last and biggest bomb was set to explode if anyone tried to come through the front door. They had no way of being sure, but there was a very good chance they had taken out even _more_ of the men working for the organization which had burned him.

"So, you have any idea about what you're gonna do next?" Sam asked while he continued to work on the valve.

Michael looked down at the ground. "Not a clue, Sam. I suppose for now I'll concentrate on getting this place habitable and then see what comes up." He raised his gaze to study the back walls of the property, noticing for the first time most of the concrete had worn away from between the bricks.

"Yeah, it's gonna take a bit of work, that's for sure." Sam chuckled softly, when he saw where his friend was looking. "But I think fixing this place up is going to be the _easy_ part."

 **()()()()**

 _Near Harmony Hall, Antigua 2009_

Michael sat on the newly restored veranda of their Antiguan hideaway, enjoying the feeling of the gentle breeze on his skin after a hard mornings work of plastering the walls in the newly fitted bathroom. His prior uniform of Armani suits or jeans and polos had been discarded during the first week on the tropical island in favor of cargo shorts and bare chests.

It had taken a month to get the place into a state where he felt he could finally afford to take a break. A month of non-stop hard work and jaw clenching, teeth grinding frustration as each improvement made only highlighted another problem lurking underneath.

In retrospect, turning on the water had been a big mistake as they discovered the pipework inside the house bore a close resemblance to one very long sieve, as water sprayed out through various holes and splits in the pipes and joints. But the rotten condition of a large portion of the floor, no doubt being subject to all those leaks while the system was engaged, had made accessing and fixing all the said outflows a relatively easy job.

Then, while waiting for Virgil to return with supplies, he and Sam had gone back inside to check out the rest of the house and discovered that, even if by some miracle the ancient generator did spring to life once it had a little bit of fuel, it wouldn't do them any good as the wiring had been chewed to pieces in several places.

That first night he had given a lot of thought to just running away and taking his chances back in Miami or maybe going with his original idea of taking a trip up to DC and raising hell until he got the answers he still craved.

But as he had sat outside under the stars and staring into the flames of the fire he and Sam had made, he realized it wasn't just him that had lost everything. They had _all_ risked so much... As much as it went against his training, and the mantra which had been drilled into him by training officers and older agents, he was no longer a detached ghost moving silently around the globe not connected to anyone.

As he had continued looking into the flicking flames, he kept seeing a vision of Fiona Glenanne gazing back at him, her blue-green eyes daring him to try leaving her behind again. He really had done his best to stop himself falling back into the trap he had unintentionally stepped into nearly nine years earlier. It had taken him a very long time to get over leaving his Irish lover behind and he had promised himself he would never allow his feelings to take over from logical thought again.

But he kept running into her over the years and, although their early couplings were more violence than foreplay and usually lasting only a night or maybe two, he couldn't deny the connection between them, though he had tried his best to do so.

Every time they had been together, it had renewed his resolve to put the memories and the emotions they brought forth in a tightly locked box and continue on with his work. But it didn't matter how hard he tried, his feelings would on occasion leak out as desire took hold. It had last happened in Berlin when he had let slip what he wanted for them, _someday when it was all over._

Unfortunately, while he had meant someday in the future, when his career was over, Fiona had taken that to mean _when their particular mission was over._ Michael's hand had subconsciously drifted towards the scar she had given him on his right arm. The fiery Irishwoman had been so angry when she'd finally understood what he'd actually meant that the former guerrilla had cut his bicep whilst freeing him from the ropes that had bound him.

The dark haired man rested his elbow on his knee, his palm cupping the cheek she had struck with all her might. It was a wonder he didn't have a TMJ problem from all the times he had been hit in the face, though certainly not just by her.

When Fiona had come to Miami, he had fought hard against his feelings for her. He had hoped that she was just passing through his life, like she had on other occasions. Because it had been all too easy to fall into a rhythm of working with her again, never mind the fact that she had the resources and the contacts that he lacked at the time.

He did want to be with her, but he also wanted to be who he had been too. Without the job giving him a purpose, a greater good to strive for, he didn't know who he was any more.

As Michael stared at the dancing orange fire, he finally grasped that who he was now was a father and that reality trumped the previous life he had set for himself. The ex-spy realized that he had subconsciously made that commitment when he had agreed to kill Carla and however many other of the organization's people that had died. If he detested the selfish way his own father had only thought about himself first, always putting Frank Westen's wants above the needs of his family, how could _he_ possibly act like that?

He might be permanently burned and a wanted man, with little resources beyond the graciousness of a couple of SEAL's living on the outskirts of their former lives, but Michael vowed he would do what he could to provide for his child and figure out the rest as he went.

Once he had made that decision, he had set about the task of re-modelling the house with a fury which had left his best friend scratching his head at the sudden change in his attitude. _Well, hadn't they all been telling him for the last week they were sick of his 'pouting'?_

With Virgil supplying the money for the restoration, they had set about replacing the plumbing and rewiring the whole house, followed by ripping out all the rotten wood before laying brand new floorboards and door frames. But while they did all this work, they discovered the houses other residents, a host of stubborn seemingly impossible to evict brown rats.

They tried poison, which led to the stench of tiny and not so tiny decomposing bodies having to be searched out and then removed from hard to reach corners under the new floor boards. Then, when one of the scaly tailed monsters had jumped out of a cupboard, landing briefly on his shoulder before scurrying away, Sam had had to restrain him from opening fire on the rodents. Just the thought of being able to actually shoot one of his problems had almost been too much for Michael to resist. He had felt a flash of utter sympathy for Fiona's trigger happy ways at that point.

But the incident which caused them to take the war to the next level had been when they were awoken in the middle of the night by a loud bang. With guns drawn, he and Sam had searched the house from top to bottom, only to discover two shriveled-up burnt bodies lying next to the brand new fuse board.

It had been his mother's idea to get a couple of cats from the local rescue shelter. He had been skeptical that the two little felines, which his mom named Ramon and Victor, would be able to take on the hoard overrunning the house and he had been proven right. But it wasn't for the lack of trying though. Both had set about the slaughter with glee, hunting out the vermin with gusto but unable to tackle the larger of their prey, some of which were almost their own size.

One of them in particular put on weight at an alarming rate until a few weeks ago, when it gave birth to a litter of five kittens, at which point Victor became Vicky. The kittens were removed to Virgil's place of business, where Fiona and Madeline had taken up residence in the small apartment above the office. Michael had been torn between grateful that the furry little monsters were gone and worried about the all the things that made baby cats dangerous to be around pregnant women. The removal of the felines had triggered Fiona's answer to the problem. Born and raised on a farm for the first eight years of her life, she had known instinctively what they needed.

Michael looked down at his feet to where the three dogs were laying on the edge of the veranda, sunning themselves in the mid-morning heat. Fiona had driven up in a Jeep emblazoned with the words, _Watkins Water Adventures_ , and brought out three yapping, jumping small dogs on leads. All had mainly white coats with a wiry texture, one with black ears and a big black patch on its back, another with one brown ear and the last one had a black face and what looked like tan eyebrows.

" _Here," she'd said as she had handed him the leashes. "They're Jack Russell terriers. Lucky for us there's a man who comes into the bar every day who breeds them. They'll clear up the rat problem and then maybe you'll be ready to_ _be a family." Before he had been able to answer, she had climbed back into the vehicle. "Oh and don't worry, they were raised around cats, so you won't have any excuse to send them away too. Sam is going to bring some dog food back with him."_

The dogs had lived up to Fiona's high opinion of their abilities and more; they were a pack of little savages. The rats which managed to avoid the hunters' jaws were driven back out into the forest which surrounded the property. In the last days, he hadn't seen or heard any of the destructive lodgers and Mr Westen was sure he wouldn't as long as the dogs were on patrol.

The dog with the black face, the leader of the death squad, rolled on to its back and yawned. Michael had, much to Sam's amusement, named it Larry in honor of his first partner after being recruited into the CIA. Just like its namesake, Larry, during his down time, was a relaxed charming individual. But once he was given a job to do, he turned into a stone cold killer who took great delight in his work.

Not to be outdone, Sam had then insisted on naming the other two Harris and Lane. The smallest of the three with one brown ear and a perchance for yapping at anything it considered suspicious was Harris and that left the other as Lane, who at the bottom of the pack hierarchy was happy to follow the other two around and join in with whatever they were doing.

Given his upbringing and his profession, the ex-spy had never expected to tolerate, never mind appreciate, the benefits of animal ownership. To say the dogs had grown on him would have been an understatement. He chuckled internally, wondering what Fiona would make of that.

At the sound of someone coming through the brush surrounding the narrow dirt track, Michael got to his feet and, at the same time, the Jack Russell terriers formed a line in front of him.

 **()()()()**

Fiona Glenanne stood in front of the mirrored door to her closet. She was, according to a local mid-wife, sixteen weeks into her pregnancy. Running her hands over the front of her snug fitting T-shirt, she pursed her lips tightly together as she stared at her image. It seemed that in the last two weeks her body had finally woken up to the fact there was a tiny life growing inside her. Her flat stomach was now a thing of the past. Instead of washboard abs, she now sported a small but prominent bump which left no doubt as to her current status. But that wasn't the only change. In recent weeks, she had gone up two bra sizes, which meant the T-shirt she wore while working in Virgil's office was being stretched almost beyond its limits.

Patting her cheeks before gathering up all her hair to twist it into an untidy bun, she wondered if her sudden weight gain was the cause of Michael spending more and more time out at the house. It had been three days since she had delivered the three little hunting dogs out to the house and, even though she hadn't stopped for any longer than it had taken to hand him the leashes, she had noticed that the place looked good, at least from the outside.

Another thing she had noticed was how good Michael Westen looked dressed in nothing more than cargo shorts and flip flops. Hard physical work had added even more definition than there was before and, without the protection of shirts and suit jackets, his skin had taken on a golden glow. He had also let his hair grow out again, as he had in Ireland, and the scruff covering his face was well on its way to becoming a full beard with which to conceal his identity. It had been hard to force herself to get in the Jeep and drive away instead of tackling him on the spot. But as long as he was keeping her at a distance, she would do the same.

The soft meow drew her attention and Fiona turned to where Vicky, the tortoiseshell mother cat, paced in front of the cupboard where her food was kept. It was then she noticed Ramon, a slightly larger, now thankfully neutered, black tomcat was sitting on the kitchen counter top, his long tail swishing from side to side as he too was being kept waiting.

"Didn't Madeline feed ya?" Fiona sighed.

It had been Mrs. Westen's idea to get the cats in the first place and, when Victor had become Vicky, Michael declared he wasn't running an animal nursery. Madeline had avowed she would look after them, that it would be nice to have lively little kittens running about the apartment.

Michael had wanted them gone. He had come up all sorts of theories about pregnant women around cats, which of course had meant that her stubborn streak had asserted itself and, even though Ms. Glenanne had no particular love for felines, she had joined forces with Madeline against her son and demanded they keep them. She had even made sure the dogs she had bought were not only excellent ratters, but were safe to be around cats. The Irishwoman felt a momentary surge of sympathy for the felines being apparently unwanted at the new house.

After putting down food for the adults, Fiona went quietly over to the cardboard box in the corner of the room and gently pulled back the blanket they had placed over the top to give mother and babies some privacy. Five tiny helpless little kittens lay snuggled up together, their eyes still shut. Resisting the urge to touch them, she smiled down at them before abruptly standing up and heading towards the apartments other bedroom door.

The warm gushy feeling she got in her stomach every time she looked at the cute little kittens tended to set her teeth on edge, but she just couldn't help her hormone driven maternal instincts kicking in. The previous day she had actually cooed at the baby when a family came into the office to book a pleasure cruise around the island.

When she got no answer to a gentle knock, Ms Glenanne banged on the bedroom door.

"Madeline, I'm going to open up the office now... It's nine o'clock... I've fed the cats." She waited, but when she heard nothing, she opened the door and stuck her head inside. Mrs Westen was not in there and the bed was still made.

Closing the door, the Irishwoman smirked. Virgil had arrived on the island last night and it looked like Michael's mother had not bothered to come home from her date with Sam's former commanding officer.

Leaving the apartment and walking down the narrow staircase, Fiona couldn't help but smile wistfully. _At least one of them was getting some loving_.

Stepping out into the early morning sunshine, she brought out a key and unlocked the shutters. Then, bending down, she gave a light pull and, with a loud rattle, the metal barrier raised up. Stepping into the office, she pulled out the signs to put on the pavement.

"Hey! Fifi!" The tall skinny figure of Trey Martin, the owner of the Driftwood Cafe, which was more of a bar with food, called out to her as he dragged a table out onto the wide pavement. "Looks like another fine day. You ready for the rush? The Caribbean Queen is coming inta the harbor now."

Fiona paused and looked down the hill towards the harbor. In the distance, she could make out two small boats towing a large cruise liner towards land. "Morning, Trey. You're late setting up today." She glanced at her watch. Normally the cafe was already open and serving breakfast when she came down in the morning.

"Staff issues, you know what I'm talkin' about. Hey, you think your Miz Maddy would like a few hours in the morning? It's just smiling and taking the orders. I do all the cooking."

"I'll ask her when I see her," Fiona replied, thinking that Madeline would probably enjoy waitressing, chatting up customers for a few hours each day and getting a chance to meet new people. Though the older woman would deny it, Mrs Westen thrived on the interaction.

Fiona knew that the sightseers on the cruise ship wouldn't be disembarking for another hour at the very least. So, while she waited for her first customers of the day, she went to the back of the office and refilled the coffee maker for her days supply of decaffeinated drinks. As strange as it seemed, as well as having a strong craving for blueberry yogurts, she had also developed a love for the smell of dark roasted black coffee.

She was just throwing away the empty cup of her first yogurt of the day and was almost to the point of pouring her second decaf coffee when she heard footsteps on the linoleum floor behind her. Turning, she automatically placed a nearby folder in front of her waist, hiding her baby bump, and then when she saw the tall, light brown haired handsome man wearing designer sunglasses standing before her desk, her lips curved into a welcoming smiling.

"Good morning and what can I do for _you_ today?" She slid into her chair and gestured for her first customer of the day to take a seat facing her.

Smiling and flirting outrageously, Fiona didn't pay any attention to the time as she learned his name was Blake and he was on vacation with his brother, a cousin and a friend and they were looking to get away for a few days to check out the other nearby islands.

"Well, if you can fill in all your details for _me_ , we can sort out a cruise tailored to your _needs_. Here at Watkins Water Adventures, _we aim to please_." She batted her eyelids and her fingers brushed over his as she handed him a pen along with the forms.

A soft cough drew Fiona's attention away from the man she had just signed up for a three day cruise with his friends paying a five hundred dollars a piece.

"Are we interrupting?" Maddie smiled sweetly at the younger woman, while behind her Virgil and Sam just looked plain uncomfortable.

"Not at all, Madeline," she replied calmly before turning back her customer. "Well, that's everything, Blake... You just give me a call on this number." She handed him one of the business cards Virgil had had printed. "If you have any _questions_."

As soon as the young man had left the office, Fiona leaned back in her chair, quite pleased with herself. _All in all, that two hour chat had earned her two hundred dollars in commission._

"Fiona, do you think it's wise to lead on men like that?"

The Irishwoman looked up at the older blonde with wide innocent eyes. "I don't know what you mean, Madeline. I just got Virgil a two thousand dollar charter. And besides, I have to keep up what skills I've got left to me. I can't be fighting, now can I? And there is no one shoot," she said with a short sigh. "So that leaves me other charms."

Madeline reached into her purse searching out a cigarette when she remembered where she was. "What's Michael done now?" his mother asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"That's the problem, he is never around to do anything," Fiona replied, her eyes flickering to where Virgil and Sam stood in the door way, looking ready to bolt. "He's always working on the house and, the last time I went over before I took him the dogs, he was freaking out the whole time about me being there because of the rats."

"Ah, ladies, I think we'll go next door for a drink. Why don't you...er... join us when you've finished up here." Mr Axe pulled his former commander along with him, leaving the two women to continue on alone.

As soon as the the two ex-SEALs had vacated the office, Madeline turned back to the the younger woman she was already thinking of as her daughter in law.

"Honey, he doing this _because_ he cares about you and the baby. That's good, isn't it? I mean, he is out there working on that house all the hours of the day and night. He could be out drinking or - you know, not even here for you." Mrs Westen wanted to point out that her son hadn't actually abandoned them, but was unsure how the reassurance would be received.

Fiona folded her arms protectively over her chest. She really didn't want this conversation, but it appeared Madeline did and, unless she was prepared to walk out, she was just going to have to get it over with.

"I'm sure the house will be lovely when it's finished, though I doubt we'll get to share it together."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you thinking of leaving?" Madeline closed the door, dropped the latch and turned the sign to 'closed,' as if the younger woman might be thinking of leaving there and then.

"Not me, him..." She tried to keep the hurt from showing in her blue-green eyes. "It's what he does. He's staying away from me now, so it'll hurt less when he disappears."

"Why would you think that, honey? You know he's doing this all for you and the baby, don't you? He might not show it, but Michael loves you."

"Yes, and I would have bet everything I had that he loved me in Ireland too, but I still woke up one morning all alone, no note, no word, no nothing... I didn't see him again for two years and when I did-" Fiona cut herself off. Madeline had no need to know what happened when she'd come across him that first time or what she had done to remind him of what he had lost.

Instead she continued on. "He's had time to do nothing but think about what he's given up and now what does he have left to lose? Once he's made sure we're safe, he'll be off to DC like a shot to raise hell, just like he said he was going to before Cowan and Carla showed their faces."

"Oh, sweetheart, I don't believe that for a minute. He wouldn't abandon-"

"Madeline, do you know what it feels like to have the person you love look at you with fear in their eyes? Michael's not afraid of anything... except being with me... what kind of relationship is that?"

Mrs Westen had a far away look in her eyes now. "Yes, I know." She had seen that look on her older son's face, too. " _And_ I know what it feels like to have the one you love make you afraid."

That got Fiona's attention. She watched while the older woman lit a cigarette and took a deep drag off of it and then, as she remembered where she was and who she was with, she snubbed in out immediately. "I'm sorry. I'll smoke outside next time. Michael... Michael wasn't raised in... a place that let him learn how to love or trust... don't blame him for that... I know I keep saying it, but just give him time, he'll come around. He's just got to work through it. He really does love you, Fiona. I can see it. He's different when he's around you. He's almost happy."

The Irishwoman blew out a breathe that was half annoyance, half sympathy. "Thank you for saying that, Madeline. It's more than he's said himself." She tried to lighten the atmosphere. "I hope he works through it before we're picking colleges..."

"Wait until the house is finished, you'll see..." the blonde promised her.

Fiona looked sad again. "Yes, we will, won't we?"

For several minutes, the two women were silent, each lost in their own thoughts and then Madeline unlocked the door and turned the sign back round to 'open.'

"Honey, I know my son, I know his heart. Deep down he is a good boy. All this will turn out right, you wait and see. I'm gonna check on those two old sea dogs. They get into so much trouble when they're left unsupervised."

She paused at the door, giving the younger woman her best reassuring smile. "Sam is taking a boat out with a couple of divers this afternoon and I'm gonna take Virgil shopping for my birthday present. We'll all meet up tonight for dinner and I'll send Virgil or Sam over to make sure Michael is there... Don't you worry."

Fiona spent another two hours in the office, taking phone calls and dealing with customers looking for some fun on the water. Her talk with Madeline had left her feeling drained. Finally, in need of a little light company and a bite to eat, she headed next door to the Driftwood Cafe and was pleased to see that Trey had kept her table free for her.

Sitting in the cool dark corner, she sat down and ordered a decaffeinated iced tea and a large salad and enjoyed the occasional conversation when one of the staff took a break. It was during times like this it felt almost like she was back in Miami.

Her attention was suddenly taken up by a rather strapping young fellow, moving in between the tables like a man on a mission. For a brief second, her heart froze as she realized he was heading straight towards her.

 **()()()()**

When Madeline walked out of the office, she found had Virgil and Sam sitting out on one the tables on the edge of the pavement, taking shade under under a large orange and green umbrella. Both men had nearly empty bottles of beer in front of them and the chilled relaxed look they were both sporting told the blonde the bottles on the table weren't the only ones of which they had partaken.

"Hey, darlin'," Virgil got to his feet and, after giving her a peck on the cheek, pulled out a chair for her to sit down.

"So, how did it go in there?" Sam asked. It had been Michael's best friend who had heard a couple of their clients talking about the mega-hottie in the office which had prompted Madeline to have a talk with the Irishwoman.

"It's Michael being an ass again," she announced bluntly as she reached for a cigarette and her lighter.

"So, definitely trouble in paradise, then?"

"You two need to find a way to drag that son of mine out of the jungle and remind him he has a girlfriend."

"Mike's just being Mike," Sam replied easily. "You know how he is when he's on a mission. He doesn't stop until he's done. The house is nearly finished. When I left this morning, he was going spend the day cutting back some of the trees. By the end of the week, I swear we'll be having a house warming party out there."

"I don't think Fiona sees it that way, Sam. Maybe _you_ should talk to him, Virgil," Madeline suggested, beaming at her beau.

"Oooh, I don't think that's a good idea," the younger ex-SEAL interrupted. "Mike -"

"I think I know my own son, Sam. He needs to pay that poor girl some attention, _before_ she does something stupid. Michael needs to realize he's about to lose something very special. And Virgil was a commander in the military. In fact, he was your commanding officer, wasn't he, Sam?... It's just what Michael needs, a superior officer to straighten him out."

Madeline Westen had in her own small way been getting people to do what she wanted even before her husband had died from an overdose of heart medication. She was truly a mistress of manipulation and Virgil Watkins didn't stand a chance.

 **()()**

Virgil decided to walk down to the house. Sam had had to rush off to pick up air tanks for his dive party and check that he had all the correct safety equipment loaded before his customers arrived. Madeline informed Mr Watkins that she didn't think it would be a good idea if she was there too, as it would look like they were ganging up on him.

Checking the clearing in front of the house, he was pleasantly surprised to see the old car and boat had been removed and the house, with its fresh coat of white paint, looked almost brand new. He was several yards from the porch when three yapping balls of fur came charging towards him.

"Hey, quit, quit, damn ya!" he yelled at the three terriers who skidded to a stop in front of him, but didn't quieten down nor did his yelling stop them from staging attacks on his unprotected ankles.

"Hey, Mike! Are you there? Call off these damned dogs!"

"Virgil..." The former covert operative stepped into view, bare headed except for a bandana, his coal black hair stuck to his scalp as sweat ran off him in rivlets. But what had the former SEAL's attention was the large machete the younger man held in his right hand.

For a brief moment, Virgil thought about turning tail and leaving the dark haired man to his brooding, but then he thought about the lovely lady waiting for him back at Harmony Hall and how grateful she was going to be to the man who had reminded her son that he had a girlfriend whom he had been ignoring for too long.

"Hey, Mike, I bought out some cold ones." He gestured with a nod of his chin towards the six pack in his hand.

Mr. Westen glowered at his mother's boyfriend. Though he had done nothing to put a stop to their budding relationship, the mere thought of his mother with any man set Michael's teeth on edge. His mom had always made bad choices. So any man she liked had to be wrong in one way or another and he knew for a fact that Virgil Watkins attracted trouble.

"Sam's in town, Virgil." He went to turn away, whistling sharply for the dogs to follow him. The older man paused for a moment before proceeding to tail the ex-spy back towards the house.

"Yup, I know. I saw him already. He's on his way to the harbor for a job. I thought I'd come out and see how you're doing with the old place. Your momma says you never stop working."

Michael sighed and, with a flick of his wrist, buried the blade of the machete into one of the verandas wooden posts. "What does my mom want?" he asked as he sat down and took one of the offered bottles.

"She's kinda concerned about you and Fiona...and the baby." Now he was here, under Michael Westen's penetrating glare, Virgil couldn't remember why he had let his sweet thing talk him into this.

"It's none of your business," Madeline's son informed her boyfriend bluntly.

"Well, now son, this is your mama talkin' here. I'm just the messenger. But your mama is convinced Fiona thinks you're not gonna stick around and that's why you're staying away from her."

"So, Fi is fine? It's just my mom that-"

Virgil sighed. He glanced at the machete sticking out of the post and then into the unfriendly blue eyes of the man who could end up being his stepson.

When his wife had died of cancer, he had never thought he would find another woman to love. But Madeline Westen had won his heart from that first day at her house when Mike and Sam had helped him out. He had irregular contact at best with his own child and was also already thinking of Fiona as a surrogate daughter too. He hated to see either of those two ladies upset. So, with that thought in mind, he silently prayed Mike was in an understanding mood.

"It's not just your mom. Look, I know you're not too keen on me and your mama's relationship. But she's asked me to talk to you. You're not treating that girl of yours right, son. That little filly needs to see you once in a while. She needs to know you still care about her... Hell, do you want me to spell it out for you? Not even Rangers are that thick."

Virgil waited to see if his words were going to have any effect. Michael drained the bottle and got to his feet. "Fine, I'll go talk to her."

"Not like that! Jeez, Mike, she's around tons of rich guys all day, most of them not bad looking at that. The least ya can do is shower and clean yourself up for your lady."

 **()()()()**

 _Okay, this was totally crazy... No, it was so past crazy. It had to be freaking bad dream... That was it. There was no other way of describing what the hell had happened... What sorta loon thinks you're gonna to marry her after two weeks of fun on a vacation?_

Moving swiftly through the thankfully crowded streets, the young man tried to be inconspicuous. But standing a good couple of inches over six feet, it made hiding difficult. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of one of his pursuers, psycho Susie's oldest brother, three hundred pounds of ugly pushing his way through the mass of holidaymakers as if they weren't there... _It was just his luck. The hottest girl in Antigua had to be the little sister to the chief constable and biggest badass on the island._

 _If he stayed out on the street, Goliath there was going to spot him any second._ So he dove into the first bar he came across. It was lunchtime and all the tables were full. But a seat in full view of the street wasn't what he was looking for. He made his way over to the bar at the back of the building. What he was looking for was a dark corner, far from the entrance and close to the exit. That way if he spotted any of his pursuers coming in through the front, the tall man could hopefully duck out the back through the kitchen.

 _Damn it! Just his lame ass luck again._ The table he wanted was taken _._ A petite, auburn haired woman sat reading a book, while one slender hand rested around a tall glass of iced tea. She looked up and then looked him up and down. From the slow smile which came to her lips and the way the book was discarded, he took it that she liked the view.

"Hi, I know this is gonna sound like some sorta line. But could I join you for a drink?" He offered his most winning smile and risked a quick glance over his shoulder, happy to see the back of a beige uniform pass by the doors. _One drink with this pretty lady and he would be on his way._

"Sure, you can get me another iced tea." She smiled easily and patted the spot next to her, which would put him in the dark corner he had been aiming for. "But I suggest you sit down first."

 _She was an American..._ As he slid into the chair she offered him, he was also taking in as much of her appearance as he could see. The tight fitting T-shirt she wore was emblazoned with _Go Island Hopping with Watkins Water Adventures._

His smile broadened. _If she worked for Watkins Water Adventures, maybe she would be willing to help him get off Antigua and take him to one of the other islands which were not being patrolled by the angry older brothers of the bunny boiler he'd left screaming bloody blue murder in his hotel room three hours earlier._

"So, who do I have to-"

He got no further, because right at that moment she lunged forward. Her arms wrapping about his neck, she pulled him into a tight embrace. Then, as he began to pull away, her lips clamped over his mouth and she ran her hands over his smooth scalp.

 _No! No! No! What is it with these crazy-assed females on this island?_ his mind screamed and then, as suddenly as she had thrown herself at him, she drew away.

"I – take it – you've upset – Jacob – Moria somehow," she spoke in between getting her breath back.

He looked around the room, his heart thumping in his chest. _How did she know–?_

"He just left," the tiny woman answered smugly. "It was an assumption on my part, of course. But you had the look of a desperate man. When Moria poked his head through the door, I realized he was looking for somebody and you seemed to be his most likely target. Our chief constable has a habit of picking on his sister's suitors. He's either running them off before they can propose or chasing them down when they don't."

He could see she was amused rather than frightened at being in the company of a man at least twice her size who was obviously on the run from the local police. "Or did you do something else to piss him off? Shall I call him back and turn you in?"

"Uh, no, I just... I mean, we were, uh... that is, I thought she was... I mean, thank you! I -" He stopped talking when he saw she was no longer paying him any attention, but was instead watching the infuriated man storming his way in their general direction.

"Michael..." She smiled at the newcomer, who scowled back as he approached their table. "This is my new friend. He's in trouble with Jacob Moria and _I've_ decided _we're_ going to help him."

 _Michael? Why did this guy look familiar to him? Six foot tall, lean athletic build, dark hair, blue eyes... cold, menacing blue eyes, which had stared out at him from a mug shot, a memo on his desk about a rocket attack on a vehicle that had been heading up an entrance ramp onto the I-95 and causing a massive gridlock in the heart of Miami. Then there had been another large explosion a day later, which destroyed the top floor of a nightclub..._ He tried looking past the beard and the longer hair, seeing those intense eyes glaring at him again...

 _Holy hell, it was Michael Westen!_ If he'd had a gun on him, he would have drawn it and shot down the disgraced spy turned terrorist on the run, saving the taxpayers the trouble of a trial.

" _We're going to help him?"_ the wanted man echoed as he glowered at both of them. "And _that_ was your version of _helping_ him?"

The taller male in question suddenly felt very much like he'd been caught out in the street between two rival gangs on a Saturday night. _Having the Moira brothers treat him to the ass whuppin' of a lifetime was looking better every second._

"Pfft..." She waved her hand dismissively. "Playing a little tonsil hockey to save a man's life? I'm sure you've done worse..." and her smile clearly said the man _had_ done worse.

 _His saviors were turning out to be more dangerous than his pursuers. How the hell had he managed to get caught up with some of the FBI's top ten as his only hope of getting off this whacko island in one piece?_

"We need to take this elsewhere," the dark haired fugitive declared, holding his hand out towards the smirking redhead. It was then when she stood up and he got treated to a full view of the baby bump clearly visible underneath her skin tight clothing that the younger man knew he was dead man.

 _Sonuvabitch, Porter, you have officially jumped outta the pan and inta the fire here..._


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**_ _This is the fifth part of the 2.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 21 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."_

 _()()()()()()_

 _An alternate for Season Two and beyond following on from 1.12 Loose Ends – Part 5_

 _()()()()()()_

Harmony Hall, Antigua 2009

Michael glowered at the young upstart, who he had caught a few minutes earlier in an intimate embrace with his girlfriend. Helping Fiona to her feet, he draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her snugly against his side. He knew he was acting like a possessive jerk. But, right at that moment, he didn't care.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, one he wasn't used to. He didn't get jealous. Years of training and living in a shadow world where nothing was as it seemed had made him immune to such wasted emotions. But for all that, he was still having a hard time controlling the desire to rip the stranger's head off for putting his hands and _especially_ his lips on his girlfriend.

"So, does your new _friend_ have a name?" He tried to make the words sound casual and friendly, but knew he was failing badly because of the way his competition was staring back at him as if he expected to get shot at any moment.

"Er, look, uh… thank you… for - for what you did, but I don't want to be any _more_ trouble…"

 _At least the guy had the sense to know how much trouble he was in._ The bald headed stranger was on his feet now and all Michael could think about was Virgil's words of warning. _"She's been hanging around rich guys and most of them are good looking."_ _Was this one of those guys?_ He looked plenty capable of dealing with Jacob Moria all on his own. _That is, of course, if the Islands chief constable was really after him._

"See, he doesn't want our help." Michael flashed a smile at Fiona, happy that the younger man was getting the message he wasn't wanted.

"It's no trouble, honestly." She acted like she hadn't heard a word either of them had said. "Let's go back to the-"

"We'll go to the _office_ ," Michael snapped. If she wouldn't listen to him about helping this guy, she would listen to him about this. He flexed the muscles in the arm holding her to his side, reminding her that he was still there.

"You don't need to-"

"I'm Josephine Baker, or Fifi to my friends, he's Michael Watkins and you are?" As Fiona talked over the other's protestations and made introductions, it became obvious to Michael that his girlfriend was going to help this man, regardless of what he said or that the man in question didn't appear to want their assistance. And while he was thinking about all this, he failed to notice his new surname.

"Jesse... My name is Jesse," the stranger announced and went to push past them. "But, really, I don't think there is anything you can do."

But for some reason Michael couldn't quite fathom, his lover was not about to let the younger man run off. "So, Jesse, what's your plan to avoid Jacob and his brothers? You _do know_ that not only is Jacob the chief constable, but his brother Leroy is the assistant harbour master? And another of the Moria boys works for airport security?"

Jesse looked to the floor in defeat and Michael's lips formed a hard tight line as the redhead talked the younger man into accepting their help.

"I wouldn't want to intrude…" His brown eyes flickered between the two of them. But all Mr Westen saw was how this man's gaze lingered on his girlfriend.

"Nonsense!" Fiona spoke as if the matter was closed. " _We want_ to help, don't we, Michael?"

"We'd love to." The words came out from behind tightly clenched teeth.

Up until his recent conversation with Virgil, the ex-spy hadn't given any thought to Fiona being bored or lonely in their new life or after what he had done for her and their child that she could possibly think he would run out on her. Surely killing Carla had removed any doubts about his commitment to them being together? Yet he had walked into the bar to find her all over this tall, fit looking, younger man, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed, unlike the auburn haired spitfire he was holding close.

"Good, that's settled then. Let's go." And then she slipped out of Michael's possessive embrace and, in a move guaranteed to cause her boyfriend's blood to boil, she wrapped her arm around the muscular bicep belonging to their new client and guided him out of the bar.

"The office is just next door. So you won't be out on the street for more than a couple of seconds and, if we close the blinds, it'll be nice and private and you can tell us how you got into this mess."

Michael let his head drop down and then, with pursed lips and thoughts of committing a swift silent murder flying around inside his brain, he followed after the couple as they stepped outside, made the short journey to the neighboring building and went in through the plate glass doors of Watkins Water Adventure booking office.

"Hey, Mikey… Fifi…. What's going on?" He looked up, surprised to see Sam, Virgil and Madeline sitting around Fiona's desk, playing a game of Rummy.

"That's what I'm waiting to find out, Chuck," Michael growled back, as he turned to lock the door and lower the linen roman blind. "Aren't you supposed to be working a job _?" Were they all in on this?_ His highly tuned paranoia went up another notch.

"The guy cancelled on me. He got drunk last night and fell down some steps, broke his leg... only got outta hospital this morning," Sam explained. But the dark haired man's attention was already back on his girlfriend.

"Jesse, this is Michael's mom and stepfather, Madeline and Virgil Watkins. This is their business and this is Chuck, an _old_ war buddy of Virgil's. He's helping us out... Everybody, this is Jesse, and he has a problem with the Moria brothers and _I_ said we'd help him out."

For a moment, there was a stunned silence while the trio by the table stared at Michael, obviously seeking some sort of explanation as to what was going on. In turn, Mr Westen, now Watkins, glared back, his attention off Fiona just long enough to let Sam Axe know that he had a lot of explaining to do. _Virgil's stepson – somebody was going to pay for that._

"Mike, are you sure about this?" Virgil asked, shifting uneasily in his chair as his "stepson" turned his steely eyed gaze in his direction.

"Gee, I don't know, _Dad_ … but _Fifi_ here seems to have her mind set on it." Then, reeling in the sarcasm, he directed his attention back to the man who was at the center of it all. "So, Jesse, care to explain why our chief constable is after your hide?"

The young man stood nervously across the other side of the room, as if he wanted to keep as big a gap between himself and the burned spy as possible. "Ah, well, on the second day of my vacation, I hooked up this stunning girl I met on the beach, and, ah, we -" He glanced at Fiona before continuing. "We hit it off. So, I thought, _wow_ , she's, like, _the_ hottest babe on the beach and we're having the best time... Until..."

"Until you say, thanks for making my vacation so memorable and _I'll_ call _you_ ," the Irishwoman filled in the blanks, smiling in amusement. "Miss Susie Moria is gaining quite the reputation... I've heard the same sad tale twice before in the last two months. Though, on both of those occasions, the men in question had the sense to get off the island and not go running around like a lost sheep."

"I was packing my bags this morning, I'm supposed to be flying home-" He looked at his watch. "Well…right about now, and that's when that little slice of crazy lays it on me that unless I marry her, she's gonna rat me out to her brothers that I'd led her on and tricked her into – er , you know… So, when I told her there was no way I'd marry _anybody_ I'd just met, that's when all hell broke loose, and she started screaming, saying I assaulted her—"

Mr Porter looked around him at the assembled faces, trying to gauge their reaction. "This homey don't do that _ever_ , people _._ Everything we did was mutual - But then hotel security started banging on the door and, with her yelling and crying, I just bugged out... I mean, the girl went c-r-azy…"

It wasn't the first time the former covert operative had heard such a story. Having worked all over the world, he'd had something similar happen to him more than once. Though, in his case, it was usually an asset he had used expecting more than he was prepared or wanted to give and he always had an exit strategy in place when it was time to go.

"So, do you think you can help me get over to one of the other islands?" Jesse asked hopefully, looking straight at Virgil.

"Of course," Fiona answered firmly.

"Maybe," Michael contradicted and then held up a hand to stop the outburst he was sure was about to come. "Just one thing first and, no offense, Jesse, but _we_ don't know you and we only have _your_ word on what's happened... Let's find out what's going on at the hotel and _after_ we confirm your story, _then_ we'll get you over to one of the other islands."

Jesse looked at him. But before he could speak, Ms Glenanne interrupted. "That's alright, Jesse. _I'll_ stay behind and keep you company while Michael makes his inquiries."

 **()()()()**

Jesse blocked out most of the discussion that was taking place as the gun running explosives expert argued with the rogue covert operative and the other three who the tall young man could only guess were who _Fifi_ introduced them as, Westen's step parents, and - _Chuck_ , a guy who looked an awful lot like one of Westen's known associates, Sam Axe.

He looked to where Westen still stood with his arms folded over his chest, effectively blocking the door. If he could get the burned spy to move, he could flip the catch and maybe get out into the street. But then he would have not only Antigua's finest on his ass, but Numbers Four and Five on the FBIs Most Wanted List, too.

"Fifi, you go with Chuck... Talk to Susie, you know, woman to woman... Chuck, once you're sure Fifi has got Susie talking, think you can get into Jesse's room and grab his bags? You said they're packed, didn't you, Jesse?"

 _And there was that piercing stare again; it was like he looked straight through you, reading your mind._

Jesse's brain was screaming out a warning for him to keep his cool. _This is the guy who nuked a huge chunk of Miami, wasting six people in less than forty eight hours for no good reason, just a bunch of soil scientists in town for a conference and then the next day three utility workers checking out the power running into the loft space above a nightclub._

"My bags?" he gulped, remembering his government ID was in his carry-on along with his passport and flight documents. _What could he say? They had him backed into a corner_. "Sure, I'd be real grateful. But, ah, don't put yourself to any trouble, guys… I mean, if you can just get me over to Barbuda, it'll be a big help. I can get a flight from there back to the US."

"Where are you from, Jesse?" This came from the old girl still sitting at the table. As he made eye contact, he saw the same sharp intelligence as in her son's eyes. She might be a blonde, or at least a bottle blonde, but the familial resemblance to the dark haired spy was unmistakable.

"Atlanta." It wasn't exactly a lie. It was where he was born and where he had lived until his mother's death.

"That's nice. We have family in Georgia, don't we, Michael? Though we don't see them very often."

"No, we don't, Ma. But Jesse doesn't need to know our family history, does he? V – Dad, weren't you supposed to be taking mom out shopping?"

"Yeah, that's right, son... We was gonna go looking for birthday presents."

Jesse watched the interplay between the trio. The old guy was jumpy around his stepson, which only increased his belief that Westen was the dangerous sociopath the FBI reports said he was, while his mother appeared to be more worried about what was going on between her son and his pregnant, allegedly psychotic, girlfriend.

"I don't see why we can't stay," Mrs Watkins complained as she got to her feet and picked up her purse. "Jesse is going to need someone to keep him company while you're all off talking to that Moria girl or breaking into hotel rooms."

"It's okay, ma. I'm gonna keep Jesse company. I'm gonna take him out to the boathouse and wait down there 'til Chuck and Fifi get back."

At these words, Jesse felt his heart drop through the floor. There was no way on earth he was going to some quiet, out of the way boathouse with Michael Westen. _No way, uh-uuuh._ As he frantically searched his mind for a plan to get out of the trap he had walked himself into, the other players in the game continued to talk.

"Fi, be careful, please." Michael was gently cupping his girlfriend's shoulders, staring into her eyes as if this could be the last time he ever saw her.

"I'll be fine, Michael... It's just a little girl talk." She leaned in, her lips brushing over his until the man who they were calling Chuck interrupted their private moment.

"Girl talk, really, Fifi? I mean I know you've gotta baby on the way, but no one is ever gonna-"

Mrs. Watkins' elbow caught the older man with the salt and pepper hair sharply in the ribs.

"Be nice, S- Chuck. Virgil, you better have a full wallet. I saw a piece of art over at the Brown Bay exhibition that would look great on the wall of the apartment."

And then they were alone. Jesse could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He was an analyst; he hadn't done any field work for over two years. He had been CIFA's golden boy until his conscience had gotten ahead of the job.

All he'd had to do was watch the target make a buy. But instead of purchasing the top secret information, the target had gotten into a fight with his girlfriend and begun beating on her. Unable to sit back and watch the young woman being used for a punching bag, he had intervened and, with the assignment blown, Mr. Porter had found himself transferred to a job behind a desk.

"C'mon, Jess', I'll take you to the boathouse. It's a lot more secure than this place and I think we can dodge any of Morias' guys who are on the street." Michael was at the desk with his hand in the drawer.

He had size, weight and age on the older man. Jesse tensed, wondering if he could really take down one of the biggest traitors the CIA had ever had in its ranks. But Westen had a wealth of experience, a fearsome reputation and, even though there was a ten year age difference, he could see the older man had kept in shape.

But all thoughts of unarmed combat fled when the burned spy stood up with a SIG Sauer in his hand. Now, instead of launching an attack, the CIFA agent froze to the spot as the gun disappeared into the back of the waistband of the man's cargo shorts.

"It's just in case." Michael had seen the look on Jesse's face at the sight of the gun. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing." The smile was supposed to be reassuring, but to Mr Porter it was more like the look a hungry shark would give its dinner.

 _Pull yourself together, dude. So, you're about to put all your trust in a sociopath who blows up soil scientists with rocket launchers for fun... He doesn't know who you work for, or that you've guessed his identity... Get over to Barbuda, make the call to Langley and get the hell away._

 **()()()()()**

In some ways, Fiona could sympathize with Susie Moria. The girl was nineteen years old and had five over-protective older brothers who watched her every move. The feisty Irishwoman knew what it felt like to be under the constant surveillance of well-meaning family members whose very reputations drove away most of the male company she showed interest in.

But as she sat at a table with the young airhead, who was clearly enjoying all the attention she was getting far too much to have been a victim of the type of assault she was accusing Jesse Porter of committing, the auburn haired bomb-maker had to use all her self-control to refrain from teaching the little troublemaker a lesson she wouldn't soon forget.

When she finally caught sight of Sam Axe casually wheeling a suitcase across the hotel lobby with a carry-on flight bag over his shoulder, Fiona breathed a long sigh of relief. She wished poor little Susie all the best, and to hell with lowlife men who broke their promises, and got up and left as quickly as her flat heeled sandals could take her.

She was already sitting behind the wheel of Virgil's company Jeep when Sam came up dragging Jesse's case behind him. She watched with growing concern as the stony faced former SEAL threw the case onto the backseat along with the smaller flight bag and then climbed into the seat next to her.

"What's up?" she asked, her gaze now on the large black plastic covered document wallet he held in his hands.

"What's up?" he growled. "I'll tell you what's up, sister. We just left Mike all alone with a counter intelligence agent... Jesse Porter works for CIFA." He read her look of confusion. "It means Mr. Porter is a counter intelligence field activity agent. He tracks down spies for a living."

Fiona wasted no time asking questions, filled with guilt that it was her need for some action which had led to them all into putting their lives in danger by helping out a perfect stranger. She twisted the key in the ignition and then floored the accelerator, sending the rugged all-terrain vehicle roaring out of St John's and back towards Harmony Hall.

"Fi…Fiona… hey, lady!" Sam's large hand rested lightly on the steering wheel. "Slow down! We won't be any use to Mike if we're upside down in a ditch. I'm gonna try to get him on the phone... Okay? Ease up, lead foot."

She lifted her foot a fraction, slowing down just enough that the engine was no longer screaming and they weren't been thrown about quite as much by the rigid suspension.

"Hey, Mikey, how are things going over there?"

She glared across at the older man until he put the cell phone on loudspeaker.

"You on your own?" Sam asked.

" _No, hang on... Jesse, I've gotta take this. I'm just gonna step outside, 'kay?... Yeah, Chuck?"_

"You need to watch yourself, Mike. That Jesse guy - he's CIFA. He works counter intel for the DoD, brother. You gotta get -"

" _Calm down, Chuck… That explains a lot. Did his story check out with the girl?"_

"Well, our boy told the truth about his time with the Moria girl. She was in his room for the last ten nights and they were as good as joined at the hip during the day. But this morning she started screaming at him and the manager called in her brother. And, well, you know the rest…"

"Michael, I'm sorry." Fiona couldn't keep quiet any longer. "I thought -"

" _Nothing to be sorry for, it's done... Look, I've gotta go, I was sorta in the middle of something."_

"You okay there, brother? We'll be with you in ten."

"We'll be with you in five, Michael," Fiona corrected the older man and, to make her point, the jeep began to speed up again.

" _See you soon, guys."_

Michael looked at his phone and then at the boathouse. He'd had a feeling there was more to the situation than a tourist falling for the wrong pretty girl.

They had left the office side by side and stepped out into the throng of tourists. It was a cruise ship day, so the narrow streets were even more crowded than usual. He had taken the lead, all his attention on looking out for Jacob Moira or one of his brothers _._

" _Keep close and we'll be at the boathouse in five minutes... It's out of the way and totally secure. You'll be safe there until Fifi and Chuck get back."_

 _Not getting an answer, he'd looked back and the tall, dark stranger was gone._ _He had seriously considered just giving Sam a call and ending the assignment there and then. But two things happened at once. First of all, he had realized Fiona would not have let the matter drop. For some reason, she was determined to help the young man and second he heard a loud shout coming from a side street._

" _Jacob! I saw him!"_

 _Knowing he had no choice in the matter, Fiona would lay the blame on him if Porter was captured and his own sense of right or wrong meant he couldn't stand back and let the Moira brothers beat up an innocent man, he had given chase._

 _Luckily, he had spotted the runaway before Jacob or any of his men came into sight. Lying in wait, he grabbed the young man as he went to ran past and threw him against the wall of a dark gap between two stores selling souvenirs._

" _This is an example of not staying close. You leave my side again and I'll let them take you. Understand?"_

At the time, he'd had no idea why the guy had looked at him as if he was about to get shot or why, once they had reached the boathouse, the young man had only spoken in short sentences and had done his best to keep his distance.

Michael pursed his lips. He had no doubts that Mr. Jesse Porter had heard what he had said during the phone call and that he knew Sam had most likely gone through his bags. There was only two ways things could go now. With a sigh, Michael drew his gun and moved cautiously towards the door to the boathouse.

 **()()()**

Jesse threw his head back. From what he had just overheard, Michael Westen now knew he had an enemy locked in an out of the way boathouse and at his mercy. _Well, there was no way he was going down easy._ The shaven headed young man grabbed up a large, metal-headed hammer and a heavy wrench before making a beeline for the small untidy office at the back of the building, where earlier he had spotted a radio.

 _If he could get a call out, even if he only got the Coast Guard, it might be enough..._

The CIFA agent had just picked up the handset and was beginning to turn the dials searching for a signal, when the door to the boathouse was flung open and the burned spy came inside with his gun leading the way.

"Jesse! Jesse, stop what you're – just..."

All of a sudden, bullets were whizzing by his head as Westen stopped talking long enough to open fire on the radio, blowing several holes into the communication device. "Just stop! I don't want to hurt you."

 _Great_ … Mr Porter dropped what remained of the radio handset and ducked down low with a firm grip on the wrench in his other hand. _This vacation is just getting better and better. First, the bunny boiler from hell and now I stumble into the hands of a psychotic burned spy everybody in the CIA and FBI are drooling to get their hands on!_

"I have news for you," Jesse yelled back. "Most people, most normal people, don't shoot at other people and then say they don't want to hurt you!"

Meanwhile, he was looking at the dirty cracked glass in the window above the desk in front of him and wondering what his chances were of getting through it and into the thick forest which lined the path that led back towards town.

"We need to talk, Jesse. The burn notice - I saw the dossier they used to burn me. It's a pack of lies. I didn't do any of the things it says I did. Just hear me out."

 _Hear him out? Oh yeah, that was going to happen... His opener was gonna be a 9mm to the brain pan, no doubt._

He was concentrating so hard on watching what Westen was doing that he didn't hear the sound of feet running down the side of the boathouse, until all of a sudden he found himself caught in the crossfire. The window above him shattered and he was staring down the barrel of a gun held in the steady hand of Fiona Glenanne.

"Shall I shoot him, Michael?" the Irishwoman asked as she extended the weapon through the window and took aim.

"Put the gun down, Fi," Michael called back softly. "I'm trying to convince Jesse we mean him no harm."

She looked him straight in the eyes and all he saw was his own imminent death. But then the gun was withdrawn from the window and she turned away. "Michael, can I have a word with you, _now_?"

Michael sighed and then Jesse watched in amazement as the rogue agent backed out of the room.

 _They're in the middle of a standoff and they stop to talk? Who were these people?_

He heard the lock on the front door drop and, when he peered out over the top of the desk, he could see the three of them: Michael Westen, Fiona Glenanne and Sam Axe, standing where they could keep an eye on the boathouse and talk.

Doing his best to keep out of sight, the tall younger man got to his feet and edged closer to the busted window in an effort to make out what was being said.

"We're not going to shoot him, Fi," Michael stated firmly. He was staring into her eyes while holding her at arms' length.

"But he knows who we are, Michael! If we let him go, he'll tell them where we are. We'll have to run again."

"So we shoot him, and then what? How long until somebody comes looking for him?" The dark haired man looked to his older best friend. "Sam, when Jesse doesn't arrive back when he's supposed to, how many red flags is that gonna raise? No, we've no choice now. Whatever happens, we still have to run." The younger man then turned back to his girlfriend. "You wanted help to him because you thought he was innocent, remember? I'm not killing a man just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

It seemed to Mr Porter that the red head reluctantly agreed with her lover, because in the next moment the burned spy had pulled her against his chest while laying kisses to the top of her head.

"We knew this might happen… that we would always be on the run... We'll go further south, somewhere with no extradition... We'll be more careful."

"I don't want to go." He heard Glenanne's words muffled against Westen's chest. "We have a life here, a life I could see us both getting used to."

"I know, Fi. But maybe, maybe if we help him out, we can make a friend... We need some friends, Fi. We've got enough enemies."

Jesse found it hard to reconcile what he was hearing with what he thought he knew about Michael Westen. But he was beginning to suspect there was more to the story of the Miami bombings than was known by the intelligence services. _Was Westen really willing to help him, even if it meant he and his pregnant girlfriend would lose their hideout and have to go on the run again?_

The CIFA agent took a deep breath and then let it out in a long sigh. _Well, if this isn't the stupidest thing you've done on this vacation, Porter, it has to be right up there in the top three._ He slowly got to his feet and cleared his throat, loud enough to draw the attention of the group standing outside.

"So, that offer to talk... Is it still good, Westen?"

The trio of suspected terrorists all stared back at him. He watched nervously as Fiona's slender hand tightened on her gun. But then her lover's hand gently closed over the top of hers, stilling the movement. He spoke softly into her ear, saying something the shaven headed intel agent couldn't hear, but whatever it was caused her to jerk away from her partner and then walk a few steps away with the oldest of the group, who just looked resigned to whatever happened next.

"So, I guess you know who we are then?" Westen walked towards him with his hands out to his sides.

"You're Michael Westen, Number Four on the FBI most wanted list, or that's where you were two weeks ago."

The older man swallowed and gestured to the door with one hand. "You mind if I come inside and we'll talk?"

 **()()()**

It was getting late by the time Jesse Porter departed the shores of Antigua, accompanied by Virgil at the helm of a small fishing boat with Sam and Madeline joining them to add credence to the tale Virgil intended to spin to any patrol which stopped them while making the crossing to Antigua's sister island of Barbuda.

Standing on the edge of the jetty, watching the boat get smaller by the second, Michael reached out his long supple fingers, entwining them with his girlfriend's.

"So, we're trusting him?" Fiona asked with a hint of disapproval still in her voice. "You're willing to put our safety in the hands of a stranger?"

Michael thought over what he had remembered from the intelligence community own version of the grapevine and what Sam had been able to confirm through his buddy network: Jesse Porter had been benched for having a conscience. He just prayed that the tall, bald young agent felt the same way about keeping secrets for burned spies with pregnant girlfriends as he did about defending the girlfriends of sociopaths in the field.

"I trust him to look into the burn notice and to check out Carla's identity before he makes a decision on whether or not to destroy our lives, Fi... and I have to believe once he looks into some of the things I told him about it that he'll do the right thing. He wasn't hunting us and we can't kill everyone we run into by chance."

Fiona smiled, just the faintest up-tilt of the corner of her lips. "Of course, it doesn't hurt that while you were talking him into helping us in return for a get-off-Antigua-boat-ride, Sam and I put a bug in his car key fob and his cell phone." The slight smirk faded. "Do you think it's safe for your mom and Virgil to go back to Miami?"

Michael sighed. This was the one part of the plan he had come up with that he didn't like. "If they get asked, Virgil is going back to close down his repo business. With me outta the way and unlikely to ever come back, him and my Mom have started a relationship. When they're finished in Miami, or rather once the bugs stop working, they'll head for Grand Bahama and Virgil will work outta there for a bit." He turned her towards him, his free hand straying down to settle over where their baby lay safe and sound. "Until nearer the time...I know you want my mom to be with us, but it..." His words trailed off.

"No, I want what we have here. I just hope this Jesse fellow does the right thing."

"Well, in case he doesn't, while Virgil and my Mom are playing house, Sam is scouting out some safe houses in case we have to leave in a hurry."

"So, you've got it all sorted out." She reached up and gave him a light peck on the cheek. "I betcha feelin' pretty clever about now, aren't ya?" She sucked on and then kissed his bottom lip.

Michael wasn't feeling clever at all, just plain lucky that they had dodged that particular bullet.

"I mean, this was all your fault," she declared before moving even closer, so much closer that she caught his toes and forced him to take a couple of small steps back.

"My fault?" he countered, his eyebrows sweeping up in mock surprise. "Who was giving Mr. Porter a tonsillectomy in the back of the Driftwood Café?"

The pregnant woman nipped his neck and retorted, "If you hadn't been sulking in yar man cave an' ignoring me." Her hands which were now on his waist, pulling his SIG Sauer free and setting it onto the deck before announcing, "Jesse Porter may never have come into our lives."

Fiona pushed him backwards then and at the same moment hooked her foot behind his ankle, causing him to tumble back and fall with a splash into the water.

Michael disappeared under the surface, but came back up almost immediately, spitting out a mouthful of salty sea water.

"Fiona!" he gasped. "What the hell was that for?"

He reached for the side of the floating dock, intent on climbing out. But her foot stamped down, causing him to snatch his digits away. "Fi?!"

"Over two months, Michael, two months and this is the longest conversation we've had in that whole time. You asked me to give you time? Well, your time is up!"

He smiled at her, not the toothy smile he used when he was trying to be charming and trustworthy, but a small honest smile that reached his eyes and sent a spark of happiness through her heart. As they gazed into each other's' eyes, she was kicking off her shoes.

The splash that she sent up entering the beautiful blue waves of the cove had covered his face in the water. But it didn't matter because a second later she was pushing him under.

When he surfaced this time, his hands were on her waist and it was his turn to surprise her by lifting her high out of the water and then when she squealed, he lowered her back down, keeping her body tight against his.

They fell into a deep hungry kiss, their mouths crushed together as they twisted and turned in the gentle surf. While hands frantically tugged at clothing as they sought to reacquaint themselves with the touch of soft skin and the play of the hard sleek muscles which glided underneath, they drifted towards the shoreline of their private beach.

He had no idea how much he had missed her touch until her sharp fingernails scraped down his side under his soaked shirt. Gasping for air when they finally broke their kiss, his eyes scanned the horizon. The small cove which Virgil used as a boatyard was secluded and away from the busier harbor on the other side of the bay. He regularly brought the dogs down this way when he walked the perimeter of the property in the evenings and he had never seen another soul in the last ten weeks.

He could feel her hands skimming lower, no longer under his shirt, but easing the elasticated waist of his shorts away from his hips to give her greater access to other parts of his anatomy. A wave of desire washed away all thoughts of tactical awareness and his lingering paranoia, as he was overwhelmed with his love for the woman in his arms. He tugged at her T-shirt, but the cotton material seemed to be glued to her torso. Before he could react, she let out a growl of frustration and ripped the article along one side seam to give him what they both wanted.

It was only after they had sated all the frustrated passion than had been eating away at them ever since leaving Miami that Michael cautiously eased himself out of the water and quickly grabbed up all the clothes that washed ashore.

This was so completely unlike him. He paused, his eyes on the wonderfully full figure of his pregnant girlfriend as she struggled into on her damp jean shorts and her torn top. But it was very much like somebody else, like a part of himself he had kept hidden deep down inside for so long, he had been a little scared about letting it out.

Fiona drew back her tangled mat of hair and smiled at him, Michael Westen then took a step back into the shadows as an old friend of Ms. Glenanne's looked out of her lover's eyes and smiled back at her.

"C'mere me, darlin' girl. Lemme help ya wit' thot."

He watched as her blue-green eyes widened in surprise and a look of wonder spread over her face.

"If I'd known all it took ta bring ya back wa' a soaking, I'd have thrown ya into the Atlantic a long time ago."

"We're not outta the woods yet, Fiona," The seriousness resurfacing in his expression and accent. "If Jesse decides turnin' us in is the thing to do-"

She silenced him with her finger tips over his mouth.

"We'll move on, like you said. You've got it all planned out, remember? Now are you going to take me back to _our_ home, or are you going back into the drink?"

They walked hand in hand along the narrow path until they neared the house and then, as they stepped up on to the veranda, Michael moved ahead to open the door. As soon as he unlocked and opened the door, he was hit by a twirling mass of wiry fur over hard muscle as Larry, Harris and Lane fought over who was going to greet the master of the house first.

Fiona stood back and watched as each one of the terriers, in an effort to be the first, was snapping at the others and bounding up at Michael's legs, barking and yapping their welcome home message. Then, after they had all settled down, they noticed the newcomer and came over sniffing with their heads low to investigate the stranger.

"You have a fan club, I see." Fiona's eyes flashed as she saw how quickly the dogs had taken to the stoic spy and, what was more surprising, he seemed to have taken to them too.

"I guess we just ended up hanging out all the time and we grew on each other." He couldn't help smirking when he saw the glint of her own inner green-eyed monster when he leaned down and picked up Larry, holding the leader of his pack close to his chest as he held the door open for his girlfriend to walk past him.

Once inside the house, Michael put the terrier back on the floor and, after giving it a pat on the head, he stood upright and leaned back against the kitchen counter top, levelling his gaze on the soon to be mistress of the house as she took a slow turn around the lounge.

"So what do you think?" He couldn't wait any longer for her opinion. It surprised him how desperate he was to know what she thought. "See how I rounded off the corners?" He moved around to where she was now stood, just inside the kitchen. "I was reading that with kids, they can bang into edges -"

"It all looks wonderful." She ran her hand over the marble counter top. There were tears in her eyes and, for a moment he thought he had done something wrong, as the smile on her lips left him confused.

She sniffed and then swiped at the tears. "Oh, ignore me… this has started happening all the time. You know I was a blubbering wreck the other night after watching some silly romantic drama with Madeline." She sniffed again and gestured with a nod of her head. "So are you going to show me the rest of the house?"

"Let me put the dogs out and I'll give you the grand tour," he replied, eagerly shooing the three terriers out of the door. Turning the key in the lock, he dropped his handgun on the table beside the door and striped her bare with a look. "Let's start with the bedroom. We need to get outta these wet clothes.

 **()()()()**

Six months later, Fifi Baker and her lover Michael Watkins were still living together in their secluded beach house on the Island of Antigua. CIFA Agent Jesse Porter had long since safely arrived back in Miami and, as far as they could tell, he had kept his word about keeping their location a secret. Virgil and Madeline were running the island hopping side of his business enterprise from Mr. Watkins small property on Grand Bahama while Sam Axe, under the persona of Chuck Finley, was taking care of shorter cruises and dive trips with the help of a couple of trusted locals in the small office in the township of Harmony Hall.

Life up to this point had settled down to an almost dull routine. But there was nothing dull or normal about the grunting screams coming out of the small cottage or in the pale features of the man running up onto the veranda with a gun in his hand.

 _Fiona had been out walking the dogs when she had felt the first twinge, a sharp intense tightening of her stomach muscles which came and went so quickly she had dismissed the feeling. Only half an hour later, while she was washing her hands in the sink before preparing herself some lunch, another sharp tightening occurred and for a moment she paused, a look of wonder coming to her face._

 _She had looked towards the phone, but had refrained from making the call to the office, where Michael was putting a few hours in behind the bookings desk while Sam was busy with a fishing charter. If she remembered all the bookings correctly, she had plenty of time until the big event._

 _Making herself an iced tea and a tuna salad sandwich, Fiona had gone into the bedroom and picked up one of the pregnancy manuals Michael had purchased months earlier and settled down to read._

 _Two hours later the contractions were coming every twenty minutes and were lasting nearly a minute and Ms. Glenanne couldn't understand what all the fuss was about as she slowly made her way through all her daily chores._

 _By four PM, she had been in labour for five hours, the contractions remaining at twenty minutes apart for all that time and the pain little more than a brief mild discomfort. She had heard all the tales of women who gave birth with little or no pain and had rather smugly begun to think that she was going to be one of those lucky few._

 _And that was when everything had changed and she had been dropped onto her hands and knees as a pain far more intense than before ripped through her stomach. Once the pain passed, she got to her feet and made it across the room to the phone when the next contraction hit and this time she felt her water break._

And that was where Michael had found her ten minutes later when he had burst through the door with his gun at the ready.

He dropped his gun without a thought, kneeling down beside her, ignoring the dampness covering the floor. "Fi?!"

"Call Abi..." she managed to gasp. "And then help me -" She broke off, her face contorting as the pain grew worse.

After calling Abi St. Clair, the midwife they had befriended shortly after their arrival, Michael half supported, half carried his girlfriend into the bedroom

"I've put the sheets of plastic on under the sheets." Fiona panted, when he had first pulled back the covers. "Ev-ev-everythin' is readyyyy."

As soon as the pain receded, she turned to her lover and tried to offer him a reassuring smile. "It's gonna be fine. We're ready for this."

She had been truly surprised when, after the departure of Jesse Porter, she had discovered copies of three of the most popular pregnancy manuals under his pillow on her first night in the house, each one looking well worn. She remembered his expression when he had had admitted his guilty secret, so very different to the one of near terror he wore now. Feeling the sensation of another contraction beginning, she nodded to the door.

"D'ya want ta call Sam? Get him ta call yar ma?"

He replied with terse affirmative and a forced smile before heading out of the door while she curled up on her side and waited for the pain to pass.

Abi the midwife and Sam arrived within seconds of one another and, without having to speak a word to each other, the former SEAL pulled his friend to one side, while the cheerful local woman went inside the house to care for the mother to be.

"So, Mikey, the big day, hey…? You ready for this, brother?"

The dark haired spy who always had a plan, and at least one back-up plan, was too choked up with emotion to answer. Instead he stared out across to the trees which marked the perimeter to the property and quietly panicked. He thought he was ready. He had been sure he was ready, right up to the moment he had rushed into the house and found Fiona on her hands and knees he had convinced himself having read all the books that he knew what he was doing. But now, now he hadn't a clue.

 _While they had waited to find out how trustworthy Mr. Porter was, they had settled into a routine. Each morning after they took Larry, Harris and Lane for a run, they would head into the town, spend an hour in the apartment making sure the cats and kittens were fine before going downstairs to the office, where Fiona would take care of the day to day business of running Watkins Water Adventures, and, as much as Michael hated it, he would take out any customers wanting one or two hour cruises or dive trips. At lunchtime and before they went back to the house, she had insisted on spending another hour with the cats, even though he wasn't keen on her having anything to do with the kittens._

 _And when he had tried explaining it didn't have anything to do with his feelings towards the feline species, but more to do with the opinion of a whole list of experts in the field of obstetrics, the Irishwoman had nullified his concerns with a flip of her auburn tresses and a bright smile._

" _You've read a few pregnancy books. I'm amazed at your interest." Fiona had quipped before kissing him lightly and then making him wince by picking up one of the kittens and handing it to him. "But you forget, though it's been a good many years, I was brought up around all sorts of animals and guns and explosives. So, stop your worrying." She had kissed him again, which had led to more kissing, which had led to even more kissing and them leaving the apartment much later than usual._

 _But though she pretended to understand all his concerns about her being around the animals, it didn't stop her exasperation bleeding through on occasion. "I swear, Michael, I know what I'm doing. Me mammy took care of a farm, raised a family, and fought off British patrols all while pregnant."_

"Michael, you can come inside now." The dark skinned midwife came to the door. Wiping her hands on a towel, she smiled at the two tense looking men standing on the veranda.

Hearing Fiona let out another cry, Sam suddenly paled and gulped. "Mike, good luck in there, brother... I'm gonna take the dogs for a walk. You know, check out the perimeter."

As the ex-spy moved cautiously inside the bedroom, moving slowly as though he was expecting an ambush, he found his girlfriend lying on their bed, dressed in a soft cotton nightgown with her hair now in two long plaits to keep the lengthy tresses out of her face. A light sheen of sweat covered her flushed features.

"It's gonna be awhile yet..." Abi declared knowingly. "So you two jus' settle down. I'm gonna bring you some ice chips to suck on." The kindly woman patted Michael on the shoulder as he sat on the edge of the bed. "She's gonna be fine, you're gonna be a daddy before ya know it."

As the door closed, the incredibly apprehensive man took hold of his lover's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "How are you doing? You want anything?"

She turned her head and glared at him. "Oh, I - think you've - done quite enough. Jus' ho – hold – me hand."

 _He had tried his best to show her how much he cared, even cleaning the cats litter boxes and attempting to have the dogs keep their distance, as well as doing any heavy lifting, and yet everything he did just seemed to irritate her somehow._

" _Michael, you've as good as ignored me for months and now I can't move for tripping over ya... I thought I was the one having mood swings." She'd thrown a pen at his head from her desk in the booking office. "Why don' ya take one of them fares over to Grand Bahama and get outta me hair?"_

" _Because there could be an extraction team on their way here if Jesse has told anyone he's seen us..." Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he kissed her cheek. "I just want you to be safe." he'd explained and though she'd just told him to get lost, Fiona had sunk back into his embrace._

" _I can look after myself." She had opened her desk drawer to show him the handgun and the piece of wired C4 nestled inside her purse before closing it carefully._

" _Not against a team, not against the sort of team they would send after us. We killed Carla and her people for a reason." He had been pleased with himself for not smiling when he finally won that particular dispute._

By eight o clock in the evening, Fiona had really had enough. She had reached the stage where crushing Michael's hand each time an agonizing contraction ripped through her was no longer enough. She swore by all that was sacred that she would never let him touch her again and that as soon as she had the strength, she was going to take him by force if necessary over to the same vet he had insisted on taking Ramon the cat to seven months earlier.

"Oh, honey, you should save your strength." Abi tried to soothe the fiery Irishwoman. "Let me just check on you again."

Fiona groaned and held onto Michael's hand even tighter than before. "Next time, I swear I want a hospital and all the drugs they can give me," she muttered tiredly as she clung to him.

"Next time?" he gulped nervously and then added. "If you carry out your threats, there won't be a next time... not with me, anyway."

"Okay, Fifi... On the next contraction, you can start pushing." The midwife beamed at the couple. "You ready to meet your baby, momma and daddy?"

Seconds later, the next contraction hit and her lover closed his eyes tightly, as all feeling left his hand and Fiona's cry was louder than ever before.

As soon as she released him, Michael moved quickly then, climbing onto the bed and sitting behind her, his legs acting as support and as something for her to grab hold of as the weary woman leaned back into him, straining to bring their child into the world.

Her mind drifted for a moment, remembering the first time she'd felt their daughter inside her.

 _Elbowing her lover sharply in the ribs to wake him from his slumber, she had grabbed the hand of her semi-conscious boyfriend and placed it on her stomach._

" _She's moving…" she had gasped._

" _What does it feel like?" he'd asked in wonder, pressing down gently with his hand as he felt the light movements under his palm._

" _Weird, I felt something similar the other day, but we were running and I wasn't sure."_

" _You said she… how do you know? I thought we were going to wait?"_

" _I just feel like it's a girl and I don't want to call our baby it."_

The pain and the pressure brought her forcefully back to reality. "She's coming Michael, She's -"

He didn't realize it, but as she grunted and pushed he was holding his breath. A lifetime of life and death situations and still he had never been so terrified in all his life as he was right now. When she took a break from her efforts, he pressed kisses into her neck, unable to stop himself from telling her how brave she was and how much he loved her and not caring who was listening.

A cry rent the air unlike any they'd heard before. Fiona gasped and then panted as Michael stared in mute amazement.

"Fifi, Michael... Say hello to your daughter." Abi gave the small squalling infant a quick wipe over and then placed her tiny body on her mother's chest.

()()()()

The gentle sway of the yacht lulled Fiona into a dreamy light sleep. She was always tired these days. Little Saoirse Fionuilla Westen, aka Watkins, for all her small size and helplessness, was a tyrant demanding the undivided attention of both of her parents whenever she awoke from sleep.

Six pounds six ounces at birth with a shock of auburn hair and bright blue eyes, which reminded Fiona of her computer mad brother Colin, she was soon to discover her baby had also inherited the Glenanne temperament and unfortunately the tenacity of her father. All of which meant that when Saoirse wanted something, she had a set of lungs and the streak of determination to make sure everybody with a set of ears in the vicinity knew all about it.

The warmth of the sun on her face made the new mother smile. This was their first trip away from Antigua since leaving Miami. She loved the island and surprisingly the slow way of life. In some ways, it reminded her of home. But just like her home country, there were times when she wanted a change and, like any new mother, she was looking forward to being able to show off her offspring to her larger family.

Squinting, she opened her eyes and looked at her watch. Michael should have made the call to give the all clear. The trip to Grand Bahama had been Sam's idea and she had jumped at the chance of a change of scene. Michael, however, hadn't been so keen, even though they had had the official all clear over seven months ago.

 _It had been a week after their dramatic meeting with Jesse Porter that they had got a call from Virgil to say the bugs in Mr Porter's phone and key fob had picked up nothing of interest. The young CIFA agent hadn't, as far as Mr Watkins could tell, spoken to anybody about the burned spy he had met on his vacation._

 _And further week later, they got a call from Madeline to tell them Jesse had found the electronic addition they had made to his phone. To say that Mr. Porter had been upset to find out they had been spying on him would have been something of an understatement. But Mrs Watkins, as she'd been known to Jesse, had managed handle the young man with the same skill she had always manipulated Michael. In the end, the counter intel officer had promised he would warn them if he heard of anything was coming_ _their way, but he suspected that would be never. As far he could tell, Michael Westen was fast becoming a deliberately closed topic within the CIA._

And that had been the last they had heard. But it hadn't been enough to stop Mr Westen from insisting on checking out Grand Bahama without them. So they were anchored four miles out at sea with a heavily armed Sam standing look out, waiting for the ex-spy's call to say that there were no hoards of CIA agents and tactical retrieval teams waiting to snatch them all up as soon as they stepped ashore.

As if on cue, a loud demanding cry came from within the cabin next to where Fiona lay on the deck. Saoirse was awake and calling out for nourishment. With a sigh, she got to her feet and after a stretch went inside to pick up the infant girl whose tiny fists could be seen waving in fury over the top of the bassinet.

"You're a lucky girl, d'ya know that?" She cradled her daughter to her chest, staring into the child's bright blue orbs. "Very soon you're going to meet your Grandma Madeline and Grandda Virgil and they're gonna spoil ya rotten an' one day soon, as soon as it's safe, I'm going to take you to see your Grandma Maeve and all yar uncles and aunties."

Adjusting her top, she let Saoirse suckle and rested her head back against the high headrest on the armchair where she sat. In her mind's eye she could see Sam, when he returned to Antigua all those months ago. He had traveled with Madeline and Virgil as far as Barbuda when they had dropped Jesse off to get a flight back to Miami and then spent several weeks visiting the small islands around the Caribbean searching out safe locations for his friends to hide out if Jesse Porter turned out to be a rat. She had had plans for the tall, bald man should he have proven untrustworthy.

And when the ex-SEAL had returned to the offices of Watkins Water Adventures, had found them a couple of bolt holes should their home on Antigua be compromised. These places would have given them a respite until they could get to somewhere safer. Miss "Baker" smiled at the memory of the look on Sam's face as he had strode into the office and found his best friend wrapped around her, sitting behind her at her office desk with both hands wrapped around her growing baby bulge.

" _If you two can hold down the fort here, I'll take off again, just for a few days, to get emergency supplies into the new hideouts. You know, just in case we need to move fast."_

" _Don't forget diapers - and some formula, oh, and maybe a travel cot and some blankets." Fiona smiled, glancing up at him briefly before returning her gaze to where her lover's hand was laying protectively over their unborn child._

" _And a baby seat, for the car," Michael had added, grinning at his girlfriend while running his hand over her growing belly._

" _Ah-huh, and I suppose you want me to check out the local kindergarten and make sure the hideouts are in a good school district, too?" Sam had quipped, clearly not knowing how to handle the changes that had come over his two friends. But for all his complaints at the list of demands from them couple, the older man had walked away smiling_.

Before she could sink further into her memories of those months during her pregnancy, she heard the yachts engines start up and the sound of the anchor being pulled up. Saoirse whimpered at the strange noises, but didn't let them interfere with her feed. Getting awkwardly to her feet still holding the nursing baby she went out onto the deck.

"Sam?" she called out over all the noise. It still amazed her how her attitude and towards the ex-SEAL and her trust in him had changed over the last six months

"Mikey's coming back," the older man shouted back. "He's coming back hard."

Looking out to sea, she soon spotted the fast moving Zodiac inflatable skimming over the waves. As soon as he pulled alongside, he was tying off and coming on board.

"Michael?"

"In a minute, Fi." He walked past her and went up to the helm where Sam was already turning the yacht back towards the southern islands.

She could only watch as the two men spoke. Fiona bit her lip when the Navy man suddenly switched the engines off and relaxed back against the railing which surrounded the small upper deck, a huge smile blossoming over both their features. For all their apparent happiness, she couldn't overcome the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her lover slapped his best friend on the arm and then came back down to where she waited nervously for an explanation.

"Fi, come and sit down," he spoke breathlessly and she could see a wild look in his eyes.

Once they were both sitting down on the deck chairs, their daughter finished with her meal and Fiona's shirt rearranged, he leaned forward, staring intently into her eyes and trying to contain his emotions. The shiver that ran up her spine had nothing to do with the breezing blowing on her.

"When I got ashore, there were two men waiting with my mom and Virgil." He took a breath. "They were CIA officers. Apparently the CIA has been watching my mom all this whole time. So, as soon as they heard I was coming out of hiding, they came down and were waiting to see me."

Fiona felt physically sick as she listened to what had happened.

"We were right about Jesse, about helping him. Do you know what he did for us? He investigated the burn notice and then pushed his findings up the line and he didn't let it go until somebody took notice." He beamed at her through his thick beard, using his hands to pull back his shaggy, unkempt hair which all added to his disguise these past months. "Fi, I've been cleared. They rescinded the burn notice. It's over. They want me back."

Hot tears filled her eyes and, if she hadn't been holding their child, she would have hit him. She would have pounded him and kept hitting him until he saw sense or stars, or maybe until he was a bleeding heap on the floor. _How could he?_ Feelings of bitter betrayal flooded through her frame.

"Fi, Fi…Fiona, no." She could hear the tremble in his voice and then, before she could register what was happening, he had taken their daughter out of her arms and was holding her against his chest with one hand while his free hand ghosted over her cheek, his thumb wiping away some of the tears which were still falling.

"I - I'm not going back... I'm not leaving you. I told them no." She could barely hear his words for the roaring in her ears. "I rushed back here because I wanted you to know we're free... Free to be you and me, just like you wanted...We're free to do whatever..." She stared at him blankly now. _He had told them no?_ Her brain almost refused to process the long awaited, long hoped for information.

He sat down the deck chair close beside her, settling their daughter into her lap and putting his arms around both of them. "The CIA has nothing to offer me that could replace what I have right here."

Michael leaned in and kissed her passionately, causing new happy tears to flow from her eyes. Fiona gave him a watery smile as he pressed a kiss onto the auburn fuzz on the top of his daughter's head. "We're free now and I can do what I was afraid to do back in Dublin… back in Berlin…"

Then he slipped off the lounger and dropped onto one knee in front of her, his blue eyes watering as he was becoming as overwhelmed as she was. "I hurried back to because I needed to ask you something…" He swallowed thickly. "Would ya… Fiona Cairan Glenanne consent ta be me wife?"

She reached out with her free hand and pulled him up to place a soft tender kiss on his mouth with trembling lips. Releasing him, Fiona swiped at the tears with her now free hand and nodded.

"I assume thot means yes?" Michael smiled back, echoing his first proposal, seemingly ages ago.

And when their daughter squeaked a protest at being ignored, they both had their confirmation.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:**_ _This is the sixth part of the 2.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 6 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 _An alternate for Season Two and beyond following on from 1.12 Loose Ends – Part 6_

 _()()()()()()_

Atlantic Ocean, near Antigua 2009

The _Pearl of the Caribbean_ was a sixty foot motor yacht, belonging to one of the largest charter boat companies based out of St John Harbor, Antigua, with three staterooms, a large elegant salon, a fully fitted galley and came with the services of a captain, a personal chef, and two stewards. Normally the luxury vessel rented out for a minimum of a thousand dollars a day. But as a favor to Chuck Finley, who had helped the owners discover who was stealing from their private fuel depot, the Watkins party had been given the use of the yacht for twenty four hours for the wedding of his best friends.

"Are you sure you're going to be able to manage?" Fiona stared at her own reflection and that of her soon be mother-in-law, who was standing directly behind her cradling the six plus week old infant. "Saoirse isn't an easy baby. She's _very_ demanding."

Madeline suppressed the knowing smile, which was trying to break out by biting down on her bottom lip as she gazed down at the little auburn haired angel fast asleep in her arms. "Yes, I can see that... _Very_ demanding." The older woman chuckled. _Like mother, like daughter..._

"Well, don' say I dinnae warn ya when she has ya up half the night." Ms. Glenanne replied with a toss of her own auburn hair, which under normal circumstances would have been hanging free down her back, but today had been styled into a mass of ringlets.

"I'm sure we'll manage, honey. You know Michael and Nate weren't the easiest of boys and Virgil raised a daughter. We're not complete novices at this – and it's only for one night after all." She gave the younger woman a gentle pat on the shoulder and then smoothed down the back of the intricately beaded bodice of the ivory colored wedding dress.

"Now I'm going to take this little one up on deck while you finish getting ready." She leaned forward and placed a soft peck to the nervous looking bride's cheek and then swept out of the large cabin on the luxury yacht Virgil and Sam had managed to borrow for the afternoon.

With the door closed, Fiona sighed. _It was hard to believe this was actually happening._ In the space of a year, everything had changed so much. Reaching out, she picked up a small box off her dressing table, holding it in her palm she remembered how she had been truly overwhelmed with emotion when her soon-to-be husband's best friend had pressed the fancy box with the Diamonds International logo inscribed in gold leaf on its lid into her hand.

 _The former SEAL had handed her the box that morning after breakfast at the Driftwood Cafe. He had caught hold of her wrist and signaled for her to wait until the others had left the table and then, clearly embarrassed by what he was about to do, he'd spoken haltingly._

" _Er, um, this is from me... It's a wedding present, but it's just for you... Er, Mikey told me it wasn't just the money you were pissed about when my team took down your Libyan gun deal. It was that you lost one of your earrings in the action, part of a set belonging to your mother, and, ah, this is to say sorry for costing you your mom's earring... But, don't think for one minute it means I'm sorry for stopping that gun deal... Cuz I'm not, lady. Okay?"_

Carefully opening the box, she stared at the matching pair of golden bell earrings, the tiny clappers in each one fashioned out of a small diamond. Lifting one out, she held it aloft and smiled at the soft tinkle of the diamond against the gold of the bell. This was truly beautiful and thoughtful gift and a big reminder of how much her relationship with the former SEAL commander had changed, especially in the last year.

"Something new," she mused as she slipped each wire through a pierced hole in her ear and fastened the clasp. Repeating the whole of the old rhyme, she got to her feet. "Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue."

She stood for a moment deep in thought and then, with a spark of mischief in her eyes, she rushed over to the built in wardrobe. Pulling open the doors, she went straight for the two large canvas bags they had filled with their _emergency_ supplies.

 _It was a weird feeling, being free, and neither of them had quite gotten round to believing they were off all the watch lists and no longer being chased down by the whole alphabet soup of US agencies._

Searching through one and then the other, she eventually found all the articles she was looking for and carried them across to the bed.

Standing with one foot on the end of the king size bed, with the flowing chiffon skirt of her dress bunched up to expose her thigh, she took her old trusted pink thigh holster and strapped it firmly to her leg. Then she picked up her husband-to-be's back-up gun, a compact Heckler and Koch .45 and placed the "borrowed" weapon into her "old" holster. Putting her foot to the floor, she walked over to the mirror and checked out her reflection. The flowing skirt of the dress made it impossible for the weapon to be seen. Now for something for blue...

She cursed under her breath. A nice little piece of C4 wired with a remote detonator would have been the ideal "something blue." But since the birth of Saoirse, Michael had been, in her opinion, very unreasonable about having any type of explosive near his daughter.

Then she saw the ideal thing, laying on the bureau in the corner of the room, a gold letter opener with blue-colored beads inlaid into the handle. Carefully sliding the short blade down the front of her bodice, she held it in place by tucking it under the center of her bra.

Smiling, the Irish bride admired her cunning and, as she twirled in front of the mirror, her choice of articles wasn't exactly traditional, but she couldn't help thinking about the shock Michael would get the first time he got close enough to investigate what she had concealed under her dress.

Thinking about her lover's hand straying under the silky material of her dress brought a blush to the bride's face. Saoirse was six weeks old... well nearer seven weeks old... and it felt far longer since she had last felt the intimate touch of her man. A sharp bang on the door brought her attention back to the present.

"Fiona, time to go. They're all waiting for you, darlin'," Virgil called out.

"Coming." She slipped her feet into four inch heel ivory-colored Chanel slingbacks and headed for the door.

Virgil Watkins stood in the hallway, dressed in white cargo pants and a red and white floral printed Hawaiian shirt, his white hair for once neatly brushed and his cheeks bare of the scruff that normally adorned them.

"You look beautiful, darlin'. Mike is a lucky guy." He took the younger woman's arm and began to escort her towards the sun deck. "Nervous?" he asked with a grin.

"Were you?" she countered with a grin of her own. "You sounded nervous when you called to speak to Michael. By the way, I thought that was very sweet and gallant."

 _Everybody, except maybe for Michael, had known before they had left for Miami that the older couple would be taking full advantage of the dark haired spy's preoccupation with the beach house. Walks on the beach had led to sightseeing trips about the island and dinner dates and then to nights when_ _Madeline didn't return to the apartment above the office until the following morning._

 _It had been while the two retirees were in Miami, while Virgil had been closing down his repo business out in the Everglades and they had all been waiting to find out if Jesse Porter could be trusted, that the elderly couple had decided to take their relationship to the next level._

 _If Madeline had gotten her own way, her marriage to Virgil would have been kept a secret until after they had tied the knot. But Virgil would not sneak around behind her sons' backs. Nate had been happy enough. He was enjoying himself in Las Vegas too much and, as far as he was concerned, if an old buddy of Sam Axe's made his mom happy then, "what the hell." But they had both known Michael wouldn't see things the same way. So, it had been with great trepidation that Virgil had contacted the former covert operative and asked his permission._

 _Fiona had been curled up against her lover's side when Michael had taken the call._

" _Er, Mike, it's about your momma."_

" _My mom? Is she okay?" The dark haired spy had shifted in the bed, as if to get up._

" _She's fine. In fact, she's better than fine."_

 _Michael had relaxed back, allowing Fiona to resume her position with her head resting on his chest. "So, why the call then?"_

" _First of all, I want you to know I have always thought of your momma as a real special lady. She has a kinda magnetic quality, which draws -"_

" _What are you trying to say, Virgil?" Michael had interrupted, his tone flat and slightly hostile now that he knew his mother was neither ill nor in danger._

" _Well, we've been getting to know -"_

" _Spare me the details, please. Just spit it out. Why are you calling when we agreed the only contact_ _would be if it was life or death."_

" _Ah, well, you see, I sorta figured what me and your momma had planned might turn into one of those life and death situations if me and you didn't speak first... I want to make an honest woman of her, Mike. Now, before you go off -"_

" _I'm fine with it."_

" _And say no, I want you to know -" Virgil was obviously as shocked as Fiona had been at Mr Westen's ready acceptance._

" _I said, I'm fine with it. I mean, you've been together for months now and, since I already have to call you dad, how much worse can it be?"_

" _Gee, what can I say – son – thank you... Here, your momma wants to speak to you."_

"Yeah, darlin', that call to Mike sure did give my old heart a workout, I can tell ya that. But it was worth it." His eyes were searching out the woman standing out on the deck dressed in white capri pants and a bright red top, holding a baby wrapped in a shawl close to her chest. "It was one of the happiest days in my life, the day I married that lady."

 _Virgil and Madeline's marriage had taken place at city hall with just her neighbor, Mrs. Reynolds, and the elderly lady's daughter as witnesses and, in the background watching from a distance, the two FBI agents who had been on surveillance detail that day._

As soon as they took the first step outside, soft lilting melody of Canon in D began to play. It was the same music which had played at her brother Seamus' wedding and, by all accounts at her mother's too. As the haunting guitar was joined by a flute and violin, Fiona felt a rush of nerves like nothing she had ever felt before, making her fingers tightened their hold on the former SEAL commander's arm as if to stop herself running away.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out on to the deck, the gentle sea breeze cooling her blushing cheeks and then all her doubts fled as her gaze fell on the form of her lover, the father of her child, standing at the bow of the yacht smiling back at her. The thick dark waves of collar length hair and the scruffy beard were both gone, as were the old cargo shorts and open short sleeved shirts and muscle vests. Now he was clean shaven, his hair cut and styled, dressed in white linen trousers and jacket with a pale blue shirt open at the neck and hanging untucked over the top of the pants.

As soon as she reached his side, before the official Antiguan marriage officer could even ask _"Who presents this woman?"_ Her tall dark haired lover had taken hold of her hand, clasping it tightly as he pulled her to his side.

"Are we crazy doing this?" Fiona asked in a whisper.

He smiled back nervously. _Oh,_ _the great unflappable Michael Westen lost for words._ Her smile widened when she saw him gulp and swallow as the ceremony began, remembering that it had only been a few days earlier that she had been left speechless.

" _Fiona Cairan Glenanne, Ah'm mortified so Ah am. Ya have a child outta wedlock, an' now yer tellin' me yer marryin' thot McBride fella but nae inna church... Whot has become o' ya?" Fiona had been dreading making this call. But once Michael had proposed and it was looking like they could come out of hiding, she knew she couldn't put it off any longer._

 _Closing her eyes, she had waited as her mother had continued to along the same vein for nearly half an hour, barely letting her get in more than a "yes" or "no" in that whole time._

 _When the call had finally ended, she had stood stunned and silent. That was until she had realized Michael had been in the room and had at least heard the louder parts of the conversation. She had turned to face him and seen that irritating smile on his face, which said quite clearly, "I told you not to make that call."_

" _Me mudder wants ta know when we will be visitin' har. She wants ta know as soon as possible so she can arrange fer us ta have a blessing, before Saoirse is Christened." And the sight of his self-assured smile fading at the thought of what he had to look forward to had cheered her up no end._

Before she knew it Michael was repeating his vows, his blue eyes piercing her soul as he spoke the words, binding him to her. The plain gold band slipped easily onto the third finger of her left hand and then it was her turn. At the end of the short ceremony, they kissed. Michael's one arm slid about her waist, the other around her shoulders, holding her snugly against his body as he pressed his lips tightly to hers.

The music on the yacht's system changed tempo. _Promontory_ was a track with a lot of meaning for her and, when they had been picking music, it had surprised her that it meant something to Michael too.

" _I doubt you remember, but I want Promontory for after the ceremony... It's an old tune -"_

" _It was playing the first night I saw you in that Dublin pub." His words stopped her in an instant. He had remembered... But then he continued to surprise her. "You were sitting at a table surrounded by men. Sean was there, in the background. You pinned a guy twice your size to a table and took his money. He had reneged on a bet and then you walked towards the door and, after you had kissed your boyfriend goodnight, you looked me in the eyes and smiled."_

" _Very good... You're just wrong in one detail. He wasn't me boyfriend."_

 _She remembered the night well. It was the night she had proven her worth to the man who was in search of willing recruits to the ranks of the Real IRA._

As the kiss ended and their small group friends and family clapped and cheered. The yachts crew came out on to the deck with glasses of champagne and tuna canapés while _the Pearls_ engines began to slowly take them towards the uninhabited Green Island.

 _Earlier in the day, after breakfast while the bride and groom retired respectively to the beach house and the apartment to prepare themselves for the ceremony, Sam and Virgil had taken a small boat over to the Green Island and set up a camp site in a secluded clearing amongst the trees. They had even had a quiet word with all the pleasure boat captains who would normally take their passengers over to the island for snorkelling and a quiet few hours of exploring, getting them to agree to take their fares over to one of the many other islands instead._

The large yacht couldn't take them all the way up to the shoreline and there was no dock for them to pull up to. So, after a glass of champagne, the newly married couple kissed their baby daughter goodbye and set off for their first night as a married couple on a small inflatable dinghy.

()()()()()()()()

 _His wife..._ Michael couldn't stop the smile creasing his features, even if he had wanted to. _His wife, his daughter, their family..._ A year ago if somebody had told him he would turn down the chance to get back into the CIA, he would have told them they were crazy. If they had told him he would be married to Fiona Glenanne, he would have laughed in their faces. But here he was, one hand steering the small four-seater motor launch towards the shallows surrounding Green Island and the other arm around the waist of the most beautiful woman on Antigua.

"Are you happy?"

Her words were whipped away by the strong breeze so fast that he barely caught what she asked. Before he answered, he drew her closer, his mouth hovering over her ear when he spoke.

"I couldn't be happier and you, Mrs. Westen? Are you happy?"

One slender arm raised up so she could run her long supple fingers through her wind blown hair, made even more wild by the tumbling mass of ringlets. Turning her head slightly as she was about to answer, he felt a sudden urge to kiss away her whatever she was going to say.

His lips sealed over her mouth in a deep lingering kiss, his free hand gliding up and down her back, wishing nothing more than it was her soft skin under his palm rather than the rough feel of the intricately beaded fabric of her bodice.

"M-Michael?"

He felt the pull on his waistband and heard the question in her voice and smiled ruefully as she brought her hand out from under his shirt holding his SIG Sauer in the palm of her hand.

"What happened to the 'no gun' rule?"

He slowed the launch and tried to split his attention between navigating the small boat over the reef which surrounded the island and the woman at his side who was waiting for his explanation.

 _She had been sitting at the dining table with all her gun cleaning equipment neatly laid out on the top as she dismantled her favorite H & K USP with the silver slide. But what had really caught his eye was his newborn baby laying in her bassinet beside where Fiona worked with all sorts of cleaning chemicals._

" _Fi, I think we should think about moving our guns... ah, you know, to keep them out of the way of Saoirse."_

 _She had given him a look which said she couldn't have possibly have heard him correctly. "Pardon me?"_

" _I mean, I don't think it's normal to, ah, you know..." He had waved his hand in the general direction of the table. He had known he'd made a mistake as soon as he had mentioned it, but had been unable to stop himself._

" _It t'was normal fer me, Michael. She's at me side and she's not about ta jump up and out onto tha table." She waved her hands at him, making sure he saw the latex gloves she was wearing. "I'm not a complete twit."_

 _He had conceded defeat on that particular battle, though to make a point he had started keeping his own weapons out of the bedroom and on high shelves. But he had been far firmer about finding a ready to use piece of C4 wrapped in plastic in a pocket of the diaper bag._

He reached for his gun, but she snatched her hand out of reach with a playful smile on her face and something far more dangerous glinting in her eye... It had been almost seven weeks since they had last _connected._

"I -" He thought rapidly, his eyes flickering to the rocks they were passing over and the soft sandy beach which was getting closer by the second. "We are going to be alone on an island without any back up... So, in this very special instance, it makes tactical sense to have a weapon to hand."

Before Fiona could answer,a rumbling noise came from under the motor launch and the little vessel came to a shuddering halt as they ran aground. Not wanting to give the woman at his side a chance to respond, he clambered to his feet and, in a move guaranteed to earn him a punch or two, he scooped his bride up in his arms and carried her on to dry land.

"Michael!" she huffed as he placed her back on her feet.

He ignored the slap to his chest as he quickly surveyed their position. The yacht carrying their friends was heading back towards the main island, there were no other boats in sight and, twisting around, he noted how close they were to the tree line.

"Michael! What are you-" He cut off her words with a hungry kiss and, with his body pressed up against hers, he walked her back towards the shelter of the trees and as he did so he took back his gun and returned it to it's place in his waistband behind his back.

There in the shade, away from the risk of any prying eyes, Michael dropped to his knees in front of his new bride, his palms stroking the backs of her calf muscles before slowly moving upwards under the flowing layers of chiffon, which made up the skirt of her bridal gown. That is, until his left hand curled around her right thigh and she stiffened as he slowly pulled back the Velcro strap.

"I believe -" His hand came into view the straps of the holster dangling off of it. "This belongs to me." He pulled the H & K compact out, letting the holster drop to the ground and then tucked the gun into his waistband with its mate.

"Something borrowed... It's traditional for a bride to, ahh! Michael." The sentence ended as his hands returned to their previous position. "Wha-?" Her hips thrust towards him of their own accord.

"I'm just wondering what else you have hidden away under this dress."

His fingers walked the rest of the way up her thighs until they came to the lace of her thong. Staring up at her, he revelled in the dreamy look of ecstasy on her face as he slowly ran one finger over her warm moist core.

It had been six weeks, six days and not quite seventeen hours since he had last touched her in this way and he was finding it hard to restrain himself. But this wasn't about him. This was about the woman who had given him something new to believe in, not only a new life, but also a wonderfully precious life. His finger entered her and she gasped as he found that special spot, the bundle of nerves deep inside, which whited out all her thoughts as he rubbed over it. He added a second finger and, as he worked her into a frenzy, her fingernails scraped across his scalp and tore at his hair.

Laying his head against her newly rounded stomach, the unexpected softness making him shiver as well, he held her close as she fell over the edge calling his name.

Climbing back to his feet and ignoring the dirt and grass stains on the knees of his linen pants, he wrapped his wife in his arms and cradled her closely, while tenderly pressing hundreds of light butterfly kisses to her forehead and brow as she was rocked with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

"S-so did you find w-what you were looking for?" Cat-like she rubbed her cheek against his shirt, feeling and hearing the steady thump of the strong heartbeat in his chest.

"It was right here in front of me the whole time," he murmured elusively before cupping her chin to raise her lips and they fell into another passionate kiss.

She lost track of how long they stood there, their lips locked together while their hands became reacquainted with each other's bodies. All the hard hours of manual work he had been putting in had added to his muscular frame. He was all lean, hard lines under his white suit and she couldn't get enough of him.

She arched into him, their hips grinding against one another as his long supple fingers danced over to soft skin of her back and then, as she heard the zipper slide down loosening her bodice, she froze just for a second. Ever since the birth of their daughter, Fiona had become very aware of how her body had changed. Her breasts were larger, she had expected that. But the rest she hadn't been prepared for, the fullness of her belly, the flare of her hips and the lack of energy, making her previous love of exercise a thing of the past, along with her washboard abs and lithe muscles.

Especially with the way island life had sharpened his appearance, she had done her best to limit how much of her flesh he had gotten to see over the weeks after Saoirse's birth. As if picking up on her fears, he kissed his way from her mouth to her ear, nipping at the lobe before speaking in a soft husky breathe. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

The kisses continued, from her ear down her neck along her clavicle to the soft plump rise of her cleavage and then came to a stop. Very slowly, she felt his fingers go to where moments earlier his nose had been and pull out the letter opener from the place it had been nestled between her breasts.

She smiled at his expression of disbelief.

"I suppose this is a Glenanne tradition too?"

"Sommit blue, Michael." She took the blade from his hand and, with a sudden show of violence, half turned and buried the tip of the letter opener into the trunk of the nearest tree with a lightning fast flick of her wrist. "Do you not know the rhyme?"

"Can't say I do. Do you have any more surprises waiting for me?" He lifted the straps of the dress and then slid them down her arms to expose the pale cream of her bra and the lacy thong which was half way down her thighs. Another smile he couldn't stop spread over his face at the sight.

"That's for you to find out," she challenged him, the sensation of the light sea breeze caressing her skin and the knowledge of what was to come causing her breath to quicken and her hands to reach out. Her fingers slipped in between the buttons on his shirt and in one move she ripped his clothing open as she had many other times in the past, unable to wait the time required to unbutton it properly.

She ran the flat palm of her hand over his exposed chest and torso, every line, every defined curve was achingly familiar and yet accentuated by his labors. She scraped her thumbs over his hardened nipples and smiled wickedly as he gasped and the hands that had settled on her waist tightened.

"We should go find the campsite that Sam and Virge set up for us..." He spoke in little more than a husky whisper.

"Oh no!" She slammed him backwards into the trunk of the sturdy tree behind him. "You started this." She licked a line from the buckle of his belt up to his chin, delighting in the way he trembled.

 _The belt buckle, the sneaky sonuva -_

Her fingers made quick work of removing the two guns from behind his back, dropping them both to the ground before reaching for the offending article. Jerking it free from the waistband loops, she raised the strip of leather up, dangling it in front of his face.

"So I guess I'm not the only one with a few surprises," she growled. On the inner side of the belt was secret sheath, holding a short bladed knife with a thin handle wrapped in a electrical tape.

He lunged forward, his attack taking her off balance. Snatching the belt from her hand, he let it fall to the ground with the weaponry and that was when her feet tangled in her dress and she began to fall. She felt him take a tight hold of her hips and then a sharp twist so when they hit the solid ground lined with exposed tree roots, it was his back which took the brunt of the impact. Sitting astride his hips, she smiled down at him, her tousled hair falling forward framing her face.

"I win." She smirked before leaning forward, masking them both under the mass of tumbling curls.

Fervent kisses continued as her fingers made quick work of his fly and then finally her hand closed about him, feeling him grow harder as she caressed the sensitive skin, her thumb circling over the head of his throbbing manhood. Six weeks, six days and not quite seventeen hours had been far too long for her, but he had insisted he wouldn't risk hurting her.

There was only one way to quell the burning desire raging through her. She shifted and wriggled until her thong was out of the way and then slowly eased herself down, revelling in every sensation as she formed a sheath about him. She moved against him at a languid pace, enjoying the sensation of him filling her once again, though it was a very different feeling indeed this time. Despite the easy pace compared to their normal love making, she soon felt him begin to tense beneath her.

"Fi-o-na." He breathed her name, his hands stroking from her sides to her thighs and then reaching up to caress her breasts as he threw his head back, lost in bliss.

This was where she wanted to be, where she had always wanted to be, ever since the first time they had kissed and made out behind the Black Sand Pub in Belfast city center. Her mind drifted to that moment as she felt her own release coming.

 _She had spotted him as soon as he had walked through the door of that dingy pub on a quiet back street in the center of Belfast._

 _The Black Sand Pub, a republican stronghold in a city controlled by the hated enemy, where British soldiers patroled the streets outside along with policemen, who either hated or feared the folks drinking good Irish stout or knocking back a bit of hard stuff around her._

 _Damn right, she and everybody else in thot pub checked out any stranger who wa' fool enough to wander in outta the rain. This wa' not a place whar jus' anyone wa' welcome._

 _She had seen him before in Dublin, hanging around the hardcore IRA bar on his own or, on a couple of occasions, with her brother Sean. She had guessed he was one of her brother's large group of good-for-nothing friends. After all, he had seemed no different than most of the other men knocking back the Black and then getting into mischief once the bars closed their doors in the wee hours of the morning._

 _He was not her type, she had decided, watching him watching her. Her type was rich, smooth, with a sense of style. Her type was... She'd had to stop herself when she realized she was describing Armand and that particular man was definitely not her type, not any more... She'd looked at him again, tall, dark and brooding...those scars on his face and the watchful glint in his eyes gave him a hint of mystery... Maybe...maybe she needed something, or rather someone, new._

" _Would ya like ta dance?"_

 _Nobody in their right mind just walked up on her like that. But he had intrigued her and that had saved his life. Still, he needed to learn his place. Obviously, he had known who she was. She had looked him up and down and then drawn her snub nosed revolver, pressing the muzzle into his stomach and waiting for his reaction. Of all the things he could have done at that moment, he had done the one thing she had least expected._

 _Smiling in that self assured way she both loved and hated, he had cocked his head slightly to the side and said, "I assume thot means yes."_

 _And they had danced and talked and danced some more, swaying to the music and swaying still in slow circles when there was no more music, until all the other patrons were gone and the bar owner told them he didn't care who she was, or who she was related too, he needed his sleep and they had better be on their way._

 _She'd had no intention of taking him back home with her and there was no way in heaven or on earth she'd have gone back to his place. But she wasn't done with him either. So she'd pulled him down the alley next to the bar, figuring that if the dark haired stranger with the killer smile turned out to be something dangerous, she could shoot him and his body wouldn't be found until morning._

 _In the dark, she had pressed the tall man back against the cold damp wall and they had kissed with an urgency that had left them both breathless. His kisses had driven her wild and left her wanting more. His hands had taken her half way to heaven before she'd remembered where she was and the petite woman had drawn away, breaking contact and putting much needed space between them._

 _Staring at each other, their breaths coming in gasps, she had started to speak when a faint rumble of thunder had made them both look up, as the rain had begun to fall in large heavy drops and he had laughed, an enchanting sound. Pulling her close, they had run out of the alley way and into the nearest door way on the dark and damp street with a porch._

 _They had talked half the night, in between kisses, and when the rain had finally stopped, she had already made a promise to see him again._

"What are you thinking about?" He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, his thumb gently stroking along her jaw as her vision cleared.

She looked down at him. He looked so happy, bathed in the after glow of their _reconnecting_. He had barely changed at all in the seven years since he had abandoned her in Ireland, but it had been _so_ long since she had seen her lover this relaxed. "I was thinking of the Black Sand Pub and -"

"And how glad you are that you didn't shoot me?"

"Yes, Michael... I'm very glad that I chose not to shoot you down." The air was cooling as the sun began to drop down and a shiver ran up her spine. She slowly eased herself up onto her feet. "It's getting late. We should find the camp-site."

The new Mrs. Westen nee Watkins picked up her clothes, slipping back into the rumpled dress, and then scooped up her thong and thigh holster. She heard her husband's pain filled moan as he staggered up on to his feet.

"I think I may have broken a rib," he complained and tried to put his hand to the tender spot on his back, straightening stiffly as if he'd gained fifty years in an instant.

"Let me see." She gently probed the big purple welt on his back, hiding her wince by a show of indifference. "Ya big baby," she scolded as he attempted to arch away. "Tis hardly a mark, just some bruising - maybe a cracked rib or two, you'll be fine."

She picked up his guns, so he didn't have to bend down and then slipped her arm around his. "Now, where's this camp-site? I hope those boys left us something to eat. I am ravenous. Aren't you ravenous, Michael?" She nipped his bicep as if to prove her point.

He smiled at her despite the throb from his abused back muscles, the edacious light in her blue-green eyes already causing the discomfort to fade into the background.

They entered a small clearing to find their own little oasis lit up by solar powered lanterns scattered about and hanging off the sides of a large tent. The two large coolers on either side of the tent opening promised the sought after food and drink.

"What do you think they've left us?" she queried, ducking into their canvas shelter and looking for something more practical to change into.

"Knowing Virgil, it's probably cheap beer and road kill."

"Be nice!" she commanded, stepping back out with a short sun dress in one hand and a bottle of massage oil in the other. "They went to a lot of trouble to arrange a proper honeymoon for us."

Mr Westen chuckled as he saw what was in her hands and in the coolers themselves.

"Proper? So you approve?"

"I think," she whispered, moving closer until she was pressed against him. "That we have everything here to recreate that night in Milan... you remember, it was the second or third night in the villa, when you decided to see if everything tasted better when eaten off of-"

His arms snaked around her then, pulling her tightly to him, his mouth cutting off her words with a passionate kiss. _Oh, yes, he remembered everything about that night, and every other night or day he had spend with the fiery Irishwoman in his embrace._ With a swelling heart and a stiffening member, he thought about every reason why, despite the danger, despite his own conflicted desires to the contrary, despite his sense of duty to the Agency and to his country, he had never stopped loving Fiona Glenanne, no matter how much he had tried to convince himself otherwise, and he would never stop loving her, no matter what came. _She was his other half. Without her, he was incomplete._

When he released her, his wife stared into his beautiful blue eyes, almost overcome by the depth of emotion she saw there. This was the man she'd fallen in love with in Ireland. This was the man who had hidden behind the facade of Michael Westen, American spy. This is the man she had dreamed about during those empty years between Dublin and Miami, the one she'd tried to tell herself didn't matter any more, except she just couldn't stop caring about him, loving him.

They were finally free, free to be whoever they wanted to be and whoever their daughter needed them to be, free from the beck and call of the CIA, almost free from the expectations of her family, but no longer tied to the Cause and free to not return to her homeland except for happy cautious visits and free to let their guard down and let one another into all the secret places of their hearts.

"Aye, Michael, though ya seemed too good ta be true, I'm very glad I dinnae shoot ya... jus' in case."

"Me, too..." he sighed happily.

Their bodies melted together as their souls intertwined once again, never to untangle.

Because, as he pulled her in for another deep kiss, something he knew he would never tire of, and despite all the puppies and kittens that they had already and all the gun toting babies they would eventually have and all the family and friends and potential adventures and obligations that awaited them, Michael Westen knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had the one thing he had tried to live without, but did not want to ever go without, in his arms now and he was never going to let her go again.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:**_ _This is the seventh part of the 2.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 7 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 _An alternate for Season Two and beyond following on from 1.12 Loose Ends – Part 7_

 _()()()()()()_

Harmony Hall, Antigua 2009

Over the six months after the birth of their daughter, Saoirse, the fiery all-action couple had surprised their friends and family by taking to the routine of parenthood like a pair of ducks to water.

Each day started early, usually just after sunrise with Saoirse calling for some attention by exercising her growing lungs with either happy gurgling "baby-talk" or more recently by the hiccuping wails of a teething infant demanding _a lot_ of attention. While Michael staggered out of bed and saw to his daughter's immediate needs, changing her diaper and serving up a small breakfast of baby rice and a bottle, Fiona would shower, get dressed and prepare herself for the day.

Then, after a strong cup of coffee or two, Fiona would take over and bathe and dress their little girl, while Michael took off into the bedroom and en-suite to attend to his own morning routine. Then the blissfully happy little family would travel together up the gently sloping hill into Harmony Hall where they would meet up with Sam Axe and the in-laws, if they were on the island, for some breakfast and light conversation at the Driftwood Café.

Each day, after breakfast, Michael would kiss his wife and daughter goodbye and make his way back down the hill to the boatyard where he would spend most of his day fixing any repairs that came in and doing whatever bits of routine maintenance work that was necessary to keep Watkins Water Adventures in business.

In the meantime, Fiona would go and open the bookings office and, while Saoirse either slept in her stroller or played in her playpen next to her mommy's desk, she would answer the phone and deal with the day to day running of the business. Once she had caught up with the paperwork, she would leave the rest of the daily duties to Madeline, or to one of the locals who worked for the growing business, and head home to take care of all the domestic chores.

The couple would then spend their evenings together relaxing on the veranda, surrounded by their dogs and cats, talking about how truly happy they both were and how they were so glad things had turned out so wonderfully. All this domestic bliss was watched over from a distance by the couple's friends and family with a growing sense of concern.

It was a week after Thanksgiving when Mrs. Madeline Watkins finally spoke the words that they were all secretly thinking. She waited until the breakfast plates had been cleaned off the table and the two people in question had gone about their morning chores: Michael to the workshop where he spent most of his days and Fiona taking a detour to the nearby supermarket to buy more diapers before opening the booking office.

"Those two need a break. They need to go somewhere and let off some steam before they kill each other."

Sam gave the older woman a quizzical look, despite his own unspoken reservations. _Maybe he was just reading it wrong, unaccustomed to that much happiness from his friends_. "They seem okay to me."

"Okay? You think _that_ was okay, Sam?" The blonde shivered when she thought about the syrupy display of love she had witnessed a few minutes earlier.

"Well... Yeah, sure, they looked pretty happy, darlin'," the older of the two men stuttered, wondering where his new wife was going with her present line of thought. Fiona and Michael had a volatile past, but there was no reason to be upset about them burying that past in Virgil's opinion.

"When did you last see them argue? About anything? And have you been inside their house? It's spotless and there isn't a gun in sight, not even a single bullet casing. They're both so scared of being themselves, they're trying to act like the perfect couple. Well, perfect doesn't exist and, even if it did, who'd want it?"

The two men on either side of the table thought about it for a moment and then solemnly nodded their agreement.

"You think we should say something?" Sam asked reluctantly. "I've got that job to do, but afterwards... You think they'll lay off killing each other 'til after Christmas?"

"We could take Saoirse for a few days," Virgil offered. "You know, maybe you're right and all they need to do is to let off a little steam."

"That's an idea." Madeline squeezed her husband's hand. "We could take her to see Santa. They've got one in St. Johns, and, oh, haven't they got some reindeer at one of the big resorts? I thought I saw something in the paper."

Sam gave his old friend a pitying look and then slapped his hands down on the table before getting to his feet. "Well, you two have fun. I gotta get over to Cape Shirley. There's a rich widow waiting for her new dive master." He smoothed both hands over his hair with a look which said very clearly where his thoughts were going.

"Sam, I thought you said this lady had just lost her husband? And isn't her son going to be on board?"

"No…Well, yeah… _technically_ , it's more like this is her _first vacation_ since her old man died. He was some big time hotelier, so she's been tied up sorting out the business and her son, he's on break from Harvard. So it's not like he's some little kid. I bet he's got his own honey on board."

"Well, don't you take advantage of her, Sam," Madeline ordered. "It's a terrible time after you lose a loved one."

 **()()()()()()()()()()()**

A week after his friends were trying to sort out his marital issues behind his back, Michael had found himself engaged in a problem with the fuel injection system on the V8 4-cylinder outboard motor sitting in the Watkins boatyard workshop that was fast becoming a battle of wills for the former spy, a battle taking place in his own mind where patience and logic was losing the fight to the urge to just shoot holes in the piece of machinery and then make an excuse to Virgil as to why he couldn't fix the problem.

Rubbing an oily cloth over his neck in an effort to relieve the tension in his sore muscles, the ex-operative closed his eyes and tried to force himself to relax, but it was hard. He still had a headache from only getting three hours sleep, the cries of his daughter still ringing in his head. _She was teething, it hurt._ He understood all that. But when the cries never stopped no matter what he did, it was frustrating beyond all normal bounds. _He was trained to solve problems, so why couldn't he stop his own daughter from wailing in pain? And why couldn't he fix this damn motor?_

He was still staring at it when he heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden floor boards of the jetty. The dark haired man looked around just as the door to the boatyard workshop creaked open, expecting to see a customer with some more work for him. Instead he found himself facing two well-dressed men, one of whom he recognized though he had never expected to see him again.

"What are you doing here?" Out of habit his hand slipped behind his back, reaching for a gun that was no longer there.

"Hey, Mike. Take it easy, it's not what you think." Jesse Porter, the young CIFA agent, held out his hands and smiled reassuringly.

But Michael was busy looking past the man that he had helped out of a sticky situation just over a year ago to the older stranger standing slightly behind the tall younger agent, dressed in an expensive but rumpled suit which screamed higher management. This new guy was doing a good job of looking non-threatening, but Mr Westen was well aware how appearances could be deceptive. His eyes briefly flitted to the old bureau just out of easy reach, where he had a loaded Glock hidden in one of the drawers in case of emergencies.

"Who's your friend, Jesse?"

"Oh, yeah, this is my boss, Marv Peterson... Marv, this is Michael Westen, the guy I told you about." Jesse made the introductions. "So, how are things going down here? You still happy as a civilian?"

"No."

"No?"

Michael saw the hope in both men's eyes and went about putting them straight right away. " _I mean no_ , I'm not available for whatever job _you_ think you need me for."

"It would take only a couple of days. It's something -"

"I said no. I've already gotta a job to do." The former spy turned away, ignoring his guests. He picked up a screwdriver to get back to work on the motor, hoping they would take the hint and leave.

 _He thought he had made it very clear he was not going to work for the CIA again. There had been a lot of talk about him returning to work as a private contractor, even a few vague threats about Fiona's status as a wanted terrorist in the UK. But he had ended it with a few threats of his own if they didn't back off and leave him and his family alone._

"Mr. Westen… Hi. Uh…Michael, may I call you Michael?" Marv took over the sales pitch, but the ex-operative wasn't fooled at all. The pleasant tone and slightly bumbling mannerisms could have come straight out of Counter Intelligence 101 _: Making your target underestimate you_. "I can understand your reticence, the whole burn notice, the mistakes that were made, but-"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested." He didn't even look round, just continued to stare intently at the exposed innards of the motor.

"Look, Westen, this is something real important, just hear us out. You owe me that much." Jesse tried again as his boss sent him a look which said as clearly as the unspoken words: _I told you this was a big mistake coming all the way to the edge of Caribbean to try to recruit an ex-spy._

"I don't owe you anything, Porter."

"Oh, really? You think the CIA would have just let everything drop, walked away and left you alone if I hadn't taken the time and the effort to investigate your burn notice? Six people died on your last day in Miami. How many people do you think I had to go through until I found somebody who would listen to what I had to say?"

With a huff and a sigh, Michael turned back around to face the CIFA agents, folding his arms defensively over his chest as he reluctantly capitulated. "Fine, I'll listen to what you have to say, but you're wasting your time."

"Well, it's our time to waste, so that's okay," Jesse replied, his tone returning to its normal cheerfulness now that he had gotten his way.

Michael watched warily as both men took time to find and clear a place to lay out their folders, stuffed with classified information. Reluctantly, he joined them at the work top, his eyes instantly going to the documents before him. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his cargo shorts to stop himself picking up the pieces of paper. _He was going to hear them out and then send them on their way._

"So, I'm gonna start at the beginning and walk you through the op... Just hear what I have to say and, if at the end you're still not interested, we'll leave you alone, okay?" Jesse spoke smoothly, using the correct soothing tone as recommended in _"To recruit an unwilling or nervous asset"_ from the field training manual.

Michael half smiled as the young intelligence officer started with a thick folder filled with photographs and a variety of reports. "For the last year, I've been looking into some pretty nasty things for the Defense Department: bombings, assassinations, kidnappings, you name it. It's global, but I spotted a pattern." He turned the pages as he spoke, displaying the evidence for the other man who still refused to touch the papers.

"I started by looking into weapons supply lines going into the hottest spots and found a connection at the Port of Miami. There's a lot of guns coming off ships there that have passed through Algeria. So, anyway, it took me a while, but I made contact with a guy who was shipping artillery for one of the operations. I talked him into moving some guns for me as a way to get closer. I didn't get a name. I only spoke to him on the phone, but he had this trippy voice, like a low hiss– I called him Cobra."

Michael smirked, his lips twitching, though he didn't say anything.

" _As_ _I was saying_ , I was supposed to meet up with him a couple of weeks ago, but he didn't show. Now, I'm thinking, what's up with that? So I cross referenced some documents I managed to get from the docks and found out which shipments belonged to our guy, _Cobra_. I traced them from Algerian ships in the port on to trucks and then, _boom!_ They showed up at the Opa Locka airport."

Michael sighed and made a point of looking at his watch. "Look, this is all very interesting, but I don't see..."

"Hold onto your shorts, bro, I'm getting there... It took me a while, but I checked through the manifests and found the guy's warehouse _and_ his plane, only he wasn't there. Instead we found a spot on the floor under the landing gear covered in bleach and a few spots of blood up around the wheels that whoever killed our guy missed. Now, the last flight recorded by the plane was outta the Bahamas and, on the same day it took off, a body washed up on the shore along the flight route."

"So you've found out who this Cobra is?"

"Yep, the coroner had his fingerprints checked. His name was Jeremiah Kassar and he was based out of Miami. We've gone through his house - and found nada. The place had been wiped clean. I mean, it was spotless, totally a pro job. So now we're back to using Kassar's gun running buddies in the Bahamas for a lead, but we figure that with what's happened..."

"You need somebody who can hang around the docks and not raise suspicions, or maybe you're looking for somebody known to have connections in the gun running community?" Michael added.

"Damn straight... We need to stop these guys, Westen, and you and Fiona are the best people for the job."

The young agent was right. This was a job he and Fiona could do easily. But it wasn't just them anymore and he had made a promise. He could clearly remember the look on Fiona's face when she thought he was going back to his government job before. It was an expression he never wanted to see on his wife's face again and they had a child who needed both her parents.

He shook his head and turned away. _He couldn't do that to her. It wasn't fair._ "I'm sorry, Jesse. But I said I was out and I meant it... I can't help you."

"It would take -"

"Jesse, leave it," Marv interrupted his junior agent. "Mr. Westen is a free man. If he doesn't want to help his country, it is up to him... He has retired. Sorry, we bothered you with this, Mr. Westen. Just remember what we shared with you is classified. Please don't talk about it to anybody else... Goodbye."

Hearing the door close, Michael turned around and that was when he saw the pair of sneaky sons of bitches had left the stack of folders behind. He dashed to the door, but there was no sign of either man. Returning to the workshop, he stared at the files stacked up neatly on his work bench with a piece of paper laying on top, the name of a hotel on the other side of the island written in small neat script.

Staring down at the neatly stacked pile of classified documents, the former spy stood chewing on the inside of his cheek, fingers itching to reach out and just... _No, he wasn't interested! He had a new life, a wife he loved and a daughter who he would gladly die for. They were his world now, not some government mission! He was through with that life._

He snatched his hands away and turned back to the V8 and its faulty fuel injection. This was his only mission now, keeping his family safe, being there with them, for them every step of the way. He wiped a hand over his forehead and then picked up the screw driver again. It was time to go to war on the motor which was causing him so much trouble and then he would get that stack of folders back to where they belonged.

All the time he worked on the V8 fuel injection system, the top secret documents called out to him: _Just take a look... What harm could it do just to read through? Maybe he'd see something they missed... Yes, a new set of eyes might be all they needed._

He paused. The motor wasn't going to get fixed if he didn't give it his whole attention. _Jesse and his boss wouldn't have come all the way out to Antigua on a whim... They have a whole agency filled with agents who could do this job. So, if they came to him..._

He shook his head. He had work to do. _Okay, so it wasn't saving the world, life or death international conspiracies, but it was still important – to him. It was what Fiona wanted... A normal life..._ Over the next hour, he continued to work on the motor. But every now and again, his eyes strayed back to that stack of files.

Until finally throwing down the screwdriver in a sign of defeat, he went over to the small fridge, got himself a yogurt and a bottle of water before sitting down in a chair and putting his feet up on the worktop, attacking the folders filled with classified, top secret intelligence reports like a starving man at a feast.

As he skimmed through the pages, he came to the conclusion that Jesse and his boss were right. All they really needed was somebody who could hang around the port and the commercial airport on Grand Bahamas and ask questions, somebody who could talk to the local smugglers about the gun trade without raising the suspicions of anybody who might be looking on. He pursed his lips, realizing that the job was actually perfectly suited for Fiona more than for himself. She would probably enjoy it too, a chance to chat with old contacts and make new friends with him standing in the back ground as _her_ backup.

He threw the file back onto the work top with the others and got to his feet. He was back to remembering the look on her face when he told her the burn notice had been rescinded and she thought he was going back to work for the CIA. He couldn't do that to her again. Besides she had always made it very clear how she felt about his government work... _No, she would never agree to them doing this...Would she?_

Picking up the folders, he made the snap decision to take them back there and then. The temptation was getting too much and he had made a promise he had every intention of keeping. It was only a little after mid-day. He could have the documents safely back in Jesse's hands within an hour and be back before anybody realized he had gone.

 **()()()()()()()()()**

As a child, Fiona Glenanne had possessed a few dolls and even had several tea sets. She had skipped rope and shared a doll house, built by her father and eldest brother, with her little sister. But the dolls she had played with, especially when she had been on her own, had been expert bomb-makers and freedom fighters, placing their devices- which were usually Lego bricks or occasionally plasticine she'd stolen off her brother Sean- under toy cars that were also stolen from Sean or under various pieces of furniture in the doll house. She had first learned to measure time using the devices she found in her father's basement workshop. After all, correct use of a timer was a very important skill for an expert bomb-maker.

To the utter despair of her mother, Maeve Glenanne's eldest girl had only ever picked up the mere basics of cooking and had learned to avoid housework at all costs. Luckily, Claire had come along to satisfy her mother's desire for a daughter to pass on all her mothering skills. For Fiona Glenanne was her daddy's girl and was determined from a very young age to be the next great bomb-maker in the family. Besides, domestic chores as a teenager living just off the Falls Road in Belfast during the turbulent years of the Troubles had mostly involved clearing up the debris after the British Army had smashed through the doors in search for one or more of her siblings.

As a teenager, she went from playing make-believe with bomb-making dolls and Semtex Lego bricks to making the real thing. Cooking meant dashing off a batch of home-made explosive for one of her brothers' latest assignments. Toy cars were replaced too, as she got lessons on how to wire her little creations to the ignition or the fuel tanks of real ones or, her personal favorite, how to rig up pressure pads under the seats.

In later years, she had been far too busy, with either travelling the world as the girlfriend and second in command to an international arms broker or robbing banks for the IRA, to even think about becoming a wife and mother.

But then she had met Michael McBride and, all of a sudden, a little crack had appeared in her hardened demeanor. It had been an insidious attack led by her own deeply buried maternal instincts. But as the months had passed, each time she had looked into her lover's blue eyes, she'd found herself thinking more and more about what it might be like to be a mother and a wife. She had started to see how happy her mother was when her children came visiting, how much joy her sister in laws had in their lives. Though in their case, neither one had ever felt the excitement of running around with a gun in one hand and a bomb in other. So, to her way of thinking, the two women knew no better.

But that was then - and now, and now she had exactly what she had yearned for all those years ago: a normal, ordinary life with the only man who had ever made her feel completely happy.

She rested her elbows on the desk top in front of her and placed her head in her hands. This was what she wanted, what she had dreamed about for the last ten years. She had a husband who she loved and she was in no doubt loved her back. A baby who they both cherished, even if being kept up all night by her loud howls for the last two weeks was driving them both to distraction. A house on an island paradise that gave them safety and security and a job which paid the bills and kept them occupied... _So why was she feeling the way she was?_

The previous night they had been going through the boxes of Christmas decorations Madeline had brought over earlier in the day. Baubles of every color, shape and size, enough streamers of tinsel to go around the beach house twice and probably half way round again and, much to Michael's chagrin, six separate sets of Christmas lights, all of which he'd been sure he was going to find were busted in one way or another.

 _In the corner of the room stood the six and half foot tall silver imitation tree that Virgil had picked up from the weekly market in St. Johns. The old SEAL commander had brought the article inside at the same time as Madeline had delivered the boxes, declaring that a real tree would drop its needles in a couple of days in the heat of an Antiguan winter._

" _Michael, I'm sure this is meant to be fun." She had smiled over at him from where she stood, placing brightly colored balls on the ends of the "tree limbs."_

" _Fun?" he'd muttered as he'd thrown the third set of busted lights away and had reached for the fourth box. "I'm beginning to think this might have been one of my main reasons for staying away from home at this time of year."_

 _She'd been sure he had spoken without thinking. She knew from what he had said in the past and what she had gathered off Madeline that Christmas in the Westen household when he had been growing up had always been a time for walking on eggshells, waiting for the first fight to begin, wondering who was going to be spending the holiday in hospital that particular year._

" _Michael, this is -"_

 _He was on his feet in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. "I know. I'm sorry." He kissed her neck, the tender ticklish spot which always made her shiver._

He had taken to doing this a lot, not that she wanted to complain. But, at the slightest hint they might be about to start of any sort of meaningful conversation or begin to disagree on some matter, regardless of how trivial, he would pull her into an embrace and set about distracting her. _The distractions were – nice. Well….to be perfectly honest, they were more than nice. But it meant they never really talked… about anything._

" _Do you want to take a break?" she'd asked, feeling a certain part of his anatomy digging her in the back as she'd leaned into his embrace... Then again she was just as bad as him, when she thought about it._

" _Oh, yes, please."_

 _He'd turned her in his arms so he could draw her into a long languid kiss and, while their tongues danced and stroked against each others, she'd undone the tie on the front of his cotton shorts as his fingers worked free the straps on her sun dress._

 _Kissing had rapidly moved onto touching. Closing her eyes, she could still remember the touch of his work roughened hands on her waist, moving upwards to cup her breasts, the feel of his breath on her oh so sensitive nipples, before..._

She stopped her thoughts there and then. The love was still there, as was the passion, but it was diluted. She couldn't put her finger on what was wrong. They were both trying so hard... She had what she wanted, he had done everything he could and far more than she ever expected and he had done it all for her.

Saoirse stirred in the stroller, her rosebud lips pouting as she made soft suckling sounds. A quick glance at the wall clock told Fiona it was past mid-day and Saoirse had actually overslept a little. _Was the dreaded first episode of teething coming to an end?_

Madeline would be coming in soon to take over the office duties and then she would be free to go home. Fiona sighed. _Free – she didn't feel free_. She knew back at the house, the dogs would be eagerly waiting her return, as would the cats and the not so little kittens. There was a big pile of laundry waiting to be done and the washing up was still in the sink from the previous night.

Maybe she would call in at the workshop and tell Michael to pick up something for them to eat on his way home. That way she could fill up the washing machine and then take Saoirse and the dogs out on a walk into the countryside. She half smiled. She could take her H & K with a silencer attached and, as long as she stayed away from the routes Michael liked to travel when he went for a run and remembered to pick up all the casings, she could have a little quiet target practice and see if that would lighten her mood.

 **()()**

Her walk took her away from the perimeter of the little beach-house and along a path which eventually led out to a rocky cove where one day, once Saoirse was more mobile, they had talked about taking her down to investigate the rock pools and let her practice her climbing skills on the boulders. But for now the place was somewhere Fiona could blast holes in the few pieces of driftwood which had come to rest trapped amongst the rocks without the fear of being discovered as, at each turn of the tide, the evidence of her misdeeds was washed away.

After happily emptying three clips and decimating the remains of a water-logged wooden pallet and filling a plastic barrel with holes, Fiona set off back towards home. Saoirse was fast asleep in her stroller and the dogs were still full of life, so she decided to continue past the house and along to the boatyard workshop. Smiling and feeling more relaxed than she had been for the last few weeks, or since the last time she took out her gun, she thought it might nice to surprise Michael with a little visit.

Usually whenever they got near the boatyard, Larry, Harris and Lane, their three Jack Russell terriers would charge off, yapping loudly as they went in search of their master. But today they stayed close to the stroller, jogging along without making a sound. It was then she noticed one of the Jeeps Virgil had bought was missing from the small lot next to the wooden jetty.

She guessed that Michael must have been called away to deal with some minor repair job. Or maybe he had finally gotten that motor he had been telling her about fixed and had taken it down to the harbor at St Johns where Virgil kept his charter boats.

Picking the padlock on the workshop doors was easy, even with the lack of practice she got living on an island where people rarely locked their doors. She left the stroller just inside the door and made her way over to the fridge, planning on having a cold bottle of water while she waited for her husband to return.

Spying a piece of expensive looking paper on the floor, she bent and picked it up. The hand written note gave the name of one of the largest most expensive hotels and spa resorts on the island. As she stared at the paper, her skin blushed red while her lips thinned and eyes narrowed. She didn't recognize the handwriting, so who was leaving _her_ husband notes?

Regardless of the fact that a large part of her adult life involved taking things that didn't belong her, cars, money, banks, guns, explosives, basically anything she needed or wanted, Ms. Glenanne-Westen-Watkins jealously protected everything or anybody she considered her property and at the very top of that list came the man who was secretly visiting somebody else at the Antigua Yacht Club and Spa Resort.

Turning abruptly she left the workshop, her hands shaking as she put the padlock back in place. Marching up the hill, pushing the stroller before her, the furious Irishwoman made it to the office in Harmony Hall in record time.

"Fiona, I wasn't expectin'... Oh, honey, what's he done?" Madeline was on her feet, taking the stroller handles out of the younger woman's grip and wheeling the peacefully sleeping infant over to the corner of the room.

"I don't know that he has done anything," Fiona answered as calmly as she could. "Could you look after Saoirse for me, oh, and the dogs too while I go and find out? And I'll need to borrow your car."

"Of course, are you sure everything is …..?" Madeline found herself staring at the plate glass door swinging shut as her daughter-in-law set off towards where her open-topped Suzuki Vitara sitting at the curb.

 **()()()()()()()()**

It took Michael ten minutes from walking through the gates of the Antigua Yacht Club and Spa Resort to find the two CIFA officers sitting out by the pool. The two spies were both dressed in knee length shorts and flip flops. Jesse was wearing a light colored panama hat to protect his bald head from the sun while Marv had smeared himself in suntan lotion unsuccessfully, if the faint red glow on his bulky shoulders was anything to go by.

Marching up, the former agent dropped the old bag he had stuffed the documents into before leaving the workshop onto the table with a dull thud and at the same moment gave Marv a stinging slap on his sunburnt shoulder.

"Hey, guys." He smiled, though the good humor didn't reach his eyes. "You forgot your paperwork."

"Mike, we're s-" The younger of the two men pushed back his chair as if going to rise.

"Jesse, I'll handle this." Marv interrupted. "Mr. Westen, please take a seat. It was my idea to leave the files. I thought I recognized the signs of a man who isn't quite ready to quit and it looks like I was right."

"Well, you read me wrong... So, I listened to what you had to say, and now it's time for you both to _leave_."

"Soon, Mr. Westen, I promise. But first, have a seat. I have something to ask you."

Michael laughed. Jesse's boss looked and sounded like an easy going good guy just doing his job. But now closer up in sunlight, he could see there was a lot more to the man.

"I've kept to my side of the agreement," the dark haired man stated firmly.

"Yes, you have. But _I_ know you've had a good long read through of those documents before you brought them back here. _So,_ before you go back to working on outboard motors, I'd like to hear your opinion on the investigation."

"You'd like to hear my opinion?" the ex-spy scoffed.

"You were a top operative once. So, what do you say? A drink? Some lunch? All on the company's dime, just to give us your thoughts? How does that sound?"

Jesse pulled out a chair for him and then held up a hand to call over one of the wait staff. "So what do you want, Mike? Iced tea? Maybe something a little stronger?"

"Tea will be fine." _What could it hurt? Just a half hour, tell them what he found... Had they had a chance to look into the owner of the satellite phone number where some pretty impressive amounts of money seemed to be flowing? How far had they gotten in tracing who benefited the most from all the little wars and conflicts which had been started?_

 **()()()()()()()()**

Fiona found the Jeep emblazoned with the Watkins Water Adventure logo all over its sides parked under a palm tree outside the gates to the yacht club. Laying the flat of her hand over the hood, she felt the coolness of the engine and knew instantly it had been there for at least a few hours.

"What's he up to?" she muttered, before walking purposefully towards the wide tree lined entrance to the resort.

Across the Mediterranean style courtyard, her eyes settled on the outdoor pool and bar area. Apart from a couple of families sitting at the tables and a group of teenagers messing about in the water, the area had been abandoned as the air began to cool with the setting of the sun.

 _No, Michael..._ She turned her attention to the hotel reception, her temper dangerously close to bubbling over.

 _If he was in one of the rooms, there would be hell to pay..._ Her hand reached into her purse, so she could reassure herself that she still had her favorite H & K fitted with its silencer.

Inside the cool of the lobby, she saw the sign for Jasmine's Restaurant and decided that before she interrogated the reception staff, she would just check that her missing husband wasn't sitting in the fancy restaurant, filling his face with fine cuisine.

The place had an old world charm, old wood beams, brass based oil lamps and sheer muslin drapes on the doors and windows. She was about to turn away, when she heard an all too familiar laugh and that was when she spotted him sitting in a corner booth with a stunning view of a marina filled with more high-end yachts than she had seen in over a year.

He was with two companions, two men, and they were all passing around pieces of paper, pointing out details while they talked in low voices. He wasn't seeing another woman. This was so much worse. Another woman she could have fought, driven off and then made damn sure he got things just as bad, if not worse, before she reminded him what he was about to throw away.

It was then she recognized one of the other men as Jesse Porter, the man she had brought into their lives because she had been bored. Michael was sitting happily chatting with at least one CIFA agent discussing what she guessed were intelligence reports. _When did Michael Westen ever get excited unless it was something to do with national security?_ _Was CIFA any different from the CIA? Was this another recruitment drive? If it was, she could see it was working._ She felt sick and jammed her hand in her mouth to stop herself screaming.

She had known there was something wrong, that there was something missing in their relationship. Now she knew he felt the same way. Tears welled up and her breaths were coming in deep gulps.

 _He was leaving her. He was leaving her and their child. The bastard was going to walk out on..._

"Fi!"

She had been discovered. She wasn't going to make a scene here. Turning, she began to run.

"FIONA!"

 _She was going to kill him! She was going to dig up all the guns and ammunition he had made her hide away and she was going to empty every single one of them into his lying, cheating body!_

Her hand shook as she took three attempts to start up Madeline's car.

"Fiona, stop! We have -" His hand landed on the door, making her flinch.

She could feel his breath against her cheek as he reached inside to take the key from the ignition and that was when she stamped her foot down hard on the gas pedal and took off, knocking him to the ground.

 **()()()()()()()()()**

Picking himself up, Michael could only watch as his mother's car disappeared from view in a cloud of smoke, as the little four wheel drive vehicle was subjected to the lead foot of his fiery wife.

Pursing his lips, he turned and sprinted back to where his own vehicle was parked. The Jeep had a bigger engine, better top speed and, for what it counted for in a four wheel drive vehicle, it also had better handling. Even though Fiona was the better driver, he was confident he would be able to catch her up and explain that whatever she thought she saw was wrong.

Michael reached a cross roads and started to turn the wheel towards the road that would take him through the interior and back to Harmony Hall. But just as he went to move off, he caught a glimpse of a white vehicle traveling fast along the coast road towards Cape Shirley.

" _Where was she going?"_

Dragging the steering wheel around, he set off after her, driving at reckless speeds, determined that he wouldn't lose her again. Slowly, inch by inch, he closed the gap, his bigger, more powerful vehicle making an easy ten – fifteen miles a hour more than her smaller one. _If he could just make her stop and get her to listen...Surely, she had to realize he was going catch up to her soon._

The predator in him had taken charge and he was driving faster and faster, using every trick he knew to close in on "his prey." The front of his bigger vehicle was barely inches off the back of the smaller Japanese import. _Any second now she would have to give up._

She twisted in her seat, her long red-brown hair flying about her face and he caught sight of her tear-filled eyes. Then before either of them could react, bursting out of the bushes which lined the road, came a small herd of goats. He stamped down on the Jeeps brakes and sent his own vehicle skidding and sliding until it ended up sideways across the road.

Fiona wasn't so lucky. Whatever had happened, by the time he had control over the Jeep, the smaller vehicle was swaying back and forth on its roll bar upside down with the auto's wheels still spinning uselessly in the air.

" _FIONA?_ Oh God! Fi, Fiona! Where are you? _FI?_?"

He charged across the road, his eyes desperately scanning the upturned vehicle and the surrounding ground and scrub in search of his wife. When he spotted her lying sprawled on the soft grass, her eyes closed and her body not moving, he almost fell to pieces.

Rushing forward, he dropped like a stone beside her, his hands ghosting over her face, too afraid to touch her and make any injuries worse than they already were. Taking great gulping ragged breaths, he fought back his anguish as he gently began the task of examining her tiny body for injuries.

Now he had his panic under control, he could see she was breathing evenly and her color was good. Also that she had no obvious wounds or breaks, which helped to steady his shattered nerves. He began the search for less obvious injuries, delicately probing her skull, cheekbones and jaw, which all felt normal. Biting down on his bottom lip, he slipped his fingertips behind her head to check the vertebrae at the top of her spine and again thankfully nothing seemed out of place. Arms, ribs, stomach, hips, legs and finally, by carefully turning on her side, the length of her spine were all examined with the lightest of touches, but he knew that didn't give her the all clear.

"Michael?" His heart leapt as her eyes flickered open and she focused on him.

"It's okay, you're okay, I'm sorry." He fought back the tears of relief which threatened to flow, as he cradled her head in his lap.

"I'm - gonna kick yar ass, Michael - Westen," she muttered thickly, her eyes flickering as she tried to stay conscious.

The dark haired spy, the one who never got flustered and always had a plan, sat in the dirt at a total loss as to how he could make things right. Even though he was fairly certain his wife was going to be fine, he still couldn't completely shake the feeling of desolation. _He had nearly lost her. He still could lose her now if he wasn't careful._

Michael let out a long shuddering breath as a tremor ran down his spine. If either Jesse Porter or Marv Peterson had been there, he would have cheerfully shot the pair of them. _He should have never agreed to sit down and talk._

Slipping out of his shirt, he balled it up to make a pillow for Fiona's head and then got to his feet.

Looking out, he stared across to the softly rolling ocean far below him while he tried to come up with a plan. He knew he didn't have long before everything would start to unravel. He looked back to the mother of his child. She looked so small and vulnerable lying there.

But in a few hours, all that would change and he would be fending off a screeching hell-cat with the fighting skills of a ninja. He needed somewhere quiet and private, where nobody else could get hurt in the fallout and she couldn't get away until they had finished their discussion.

 **()()()()()()()()**

 _Her heart was racing as she desperately used every trick she knew to wring out every single bit of power from Madeline's tiny open topped SUV. But it was no good. She could hear the rumble of the Jeep rapidly catching up to her. Risking a glance behind, she had been truly surprised how quickly he had caught up to her. His blue eyes were narrowed in concentration and his features set in grim lines of determination._

 _It was that glance behind which had been her downfall. By the time she had turned her attention back to the road, it was too late to just brake hard. There were four adult goats and a couple of kids, typical of animals with no road sense crossing in front of her. Slamming on the brakes, she spun the wheels hard to the right and, as the left hand side of the vehicle began to lift, she knew she had made a mistake._

 _She remembered being thrown clear, flying through the air and landing hard, all the air being driven from her body and the thump as her head hit the hard packed earth at the edge of the road. She had woken a couple of times. Had Michael been crying? His voice had definitely sounded strange. She thought she may have been in another car and then she had a memory of being carried._

Fiona's eyes flew open and, with a sudden gasp, she sat up and let out an agonizing groan as what felt like every muscle in her body complained about the sudden movement.

Looking around through bleary eyes, she slowly began to piece together the events of the accident. She had flipped Madeline's pride and joy, avoiding a bunch of wild goats. Now as she took in her present surroundings, she was even more confused than ever. Instead of waking in a hospital room, or on the side of the road waiting for an ambulance to carry her safely to said hospital room, she was laying on a blanket in a small clearing not far from a faintly glowing camp fire and, in the distance, she could hear the soft whisper of waves washing up on a beach.

Frowning, the auburn haired woman did a quick appraisal of her present situation. All her limbs seemed to be in working order, if a little stiff and sore. She had a bit of a headache, but nothing she thought of as worth worrying about. She was still dressed in her shorts and blue sleeveless top, though she had somehow gained Michael's dark green work shirt.

Using a hand to shade her eyes, she looked upwards and that was when she realized that the light in the sky was the dawning of a new day. _Had she really been asleep that long? Saoirse! Where was she?_

Staggering to her feet, Fiona shook off a wave of dizziness and, as she gingerly took a step forwards, she heard the crack of a foot snapping a fallen branch and, as if by magic, her missing husband was right in front of her.

"Fi…" He dropped the armful of dried wood he had been carrying and, with a relieved smile, reached out for her. "You're awake. I wanted to let -"

"Michael, what are you doing? Where are we?" She managed to avoid his touch, as more of her memory returned and anger added fuel to the confusion she already felt.

"You don't remember?" He swept his hand out, pointing around the clearing. "The tent was there and we -"

" _Green Island?_ You make me crash your mother's car and then, instead of taking me to a hospital or back home like any normal person, you bring me to a deserted island... _Are you insane_?!" She staggered back, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. "What about Saoirse? Your parents?"

"Fi, Fiona -" She felt his hand on her arm and reacted instantly as he pulled her towards him, throwing a punch to his jaw.

"Listen to me…" he started, trying to reason with her.

In reply, she stamped down hard on his instep and then brought up her knee, which he partially blocked, taking the assault on his inner thigh rather than higher up where she'd been aiming, but he still didn't let go of her arm.

"Fi-o-na, stop it. Ow! Damn it, listen!"

However, he wasn't fast enough to stop her from throwing a lightning fast back fist, hitting him squarely on the nose, the crack of her knuckles against his face satisfying some deep primal need within her soul and spurring her on to further violence.

"NO! Ya listen ta me fer a change!... Ya t'ink af'er all this, ya can jus' walk away wit' yar government friends? What about Saoirse? D'ya plan on kissin' yar little girl goodbye? Or war ya jus' gonna leave me ta explain it all ta har?"

Her temper had broken free and every ounce of her pent up aggression, which had been lying dormant for so long, came flooding out in a torrent of verbal and physical abuse. She wasn't going to listen to a word he said because he lied… _He always lied!_ If she heard him out, he would talk her around to doing exactly what he wanted.

The blow to his nose had caused him to release his hold on her arm, allowing her the freedom she needed to launch a powerful kick to his broad chest, just below the neck line of his grease covered muscle shirt and followed it up immediately with a couple of devastating jabbing punches to the exact same spot. A thrust kick to his shoulder was blocked, so she changed the angle of her attack to a roundhouse, her instep delivering a stinging slap to his ear.

She stalked him as he backed away from her. She was the predator now, a she-wolf on the hunt.

"Fi, quit it... We need to talk."

She jabbed towards his lying mouth and he slapped her fist away.

"I mean it, Fi! I was going to talk to-"

She spun and kicked, this time aiming for his groin again. But he thwarted her attack, so she changed tactics and swept her leg low, intending on taking his legs out from under him. However, she was too slow to get out of the way, as he took her down with him. For a brief second, she was on top and then, with a sudden twist of his hips, he altered their position and he had her pinned down on the sandy ground of the clearing.

He was sat down heavily astride her hips, leaning over her, gripping a slender wrist in each hand and pressing them down into the dirt.

" _I said quit it,"_ he growled low, easily holding her down, as for a couple of seconds she continued the struggle.

The fight slowly went out of her when she realized he wasn't about to let her up. As the red haze began to clear from her vision, she stared up into her husband's blue eyes, noting with some degree of pleasure his blossoming black eye and split lip.

"Will you let me talk?" he asked, his voice cracked and coming in gasps as he got his breath back.

She offered up a token resistance. But he just added more of his weight to her hips, so she stared past his shoulder instead.

"Fine," she snapped curtly. _Maybe she could lull him into letting her go...?_

"Jesse _did_ come to me with a mission... _But_ _I turned him down_."

"I know what I saw," Fiona answered defiantly.

"Let me finish," he urged and then went to kiss her lips.

But she turned her face away and his kiss landed on her cheek instead.

"Fi, please, you're making this harder than it has to be... We spoke, that's all. All they want is for _us_ to check out the commercial airport and the docks on Grand Bahama. An easy job, not at all dangerous _and_ it would pay well... _But I said_ , I had to talk to you first before giving them an answer, _I said, we_ wouldn't do anything unless _we_ could make sure Saoirse was safe first."

"Us? They want me too?" Her attention was piqued.

In truth, the fight had been both exhilarating and familiar. She had missed their little sparring sessions. But until just now she hadn't realized how much she had missed the heat that had always been part of their relationship.

"They want _you_. The job is spying on gunrunners and _you're_ the one with the _expertise_ in that field."

"You want me to spy on my friends?" She couldn't get him off her, but what she could do was run her tongue enticingly over her lips.

"They're not after the gunrunners; they're after where the guns are going... _A lot_ of people are being killed over this, Fi. It's important." He released his grip on her wrists while his gaze was focused on her mouth.

 _He looked so sincere_. She reached up and tentatively caressed his cheek, thumbing away the thin trail of blood from his swollen lip. "You mean it? You were going to come back to tell me about this job?"

He nodded.

"And if I said no? If I told you to let it go, would you?"

She saw his disappointment, but he nodded again.

"Yes, I would let it go. I don't want to lose you, Fi."

Cupping his head in her hand, she drew him down into a long languid kiss, her fingers curling to grip his hair. She felt him relax on top of her and that was when she flipped him so she was sitting on his chest.

"Will there be guns on this mission?" she asked with a dreamy smile, while rocking her hips gently back and forth against his.

"Some, but it's really just a watching job. It'll be -" His expression changed when he read the look in her eyes. He swallowed thickly and started again. "It'll be dangerous, very dangerous, so there'll be lots of guns, and maybe even some C4." Her smile returned and she slipped out of his shirt. It had been so long since they had truly been themselves and she was feeling hot... _Wasn't it hot?_

"I imagine some… er, pretty big explosions might be necessary too," he added helpfully as she gripped the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

"And gunfights, bullets flying at us... Lot's of running..."

He lost the power of speech as, in response to his words, she raised her hands to cup her own breasts. Fondling herself as her thumbs scraped over her hardening nipples, causing her to moan in pleasure as the heat ran through her body firing up her senses as she rocked against him.

"Tell me about the explosions, Michael..." Her eyes were barely open as she arched her back and ground her still clothed groin against him, the friction adding to the flame of desire sweeping through her small frame. "Tell me about all tha pretty colors an' tha way tha ground will shake... And tha heat of tha blast will warm our-" Her voice hitched as his hands reached up to take over from her own.

She gasped then as he suddenly sat up, his strong arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace as his mouth engulfed one tender breast, his tongue circling the sensitive nipple before he nipped the bud and then turned his attention the other and then back again to the first.

Her fingers curved like claws ripping the back off his cotton vest top, exposing his skin to her touch. With her mind ablaze with passion she pushed him over until he was on his back and she could rid him of the clothing that was in her way of her getting her prize.

They rolled and tussled, clothing coming away as they sought release, their naked bodies finally entwining, their limbs tangling in an effort to become one whole. When he slipped inside her, they both froze reveling in the feeling of togetherness. Then, with an almost feline growl, she sealed her mouth over his, her legs wrapping around his waist and drawing him in deeper. She lost herself in the passion and wondrous bliss as he slammed into her, again and again, taking her breath away.

They came with an intensity neither one of them had felt for so very long. She screamed his name before burying her teeth into his shoulder as he hugged her so tightly she thought he might snap her in two. They stayed joined as the aftershocks hit them both, their bodies trembling from an overload of pleasure before sated exhaustion took them both.

 **()()**

Later, after a cleansing swim, they lay on the old blanket that Michael had found in the boat he had stolen to bring them over to the island, staring up at the cloudless blue sky high above their heads.

"So, we're going to do this?" She rested against her husband's side, one leg lying over his bare thighs while she drew patterns on his torso with her fingertips. "Leave Saoirse with your mom?"

He heard the unspoken question as well as the one his wife had actually asked. "I think we should, but -" He stopped what he was about to say as her fingertips strayed lower.

"I think it would be good for you." She gripped him lightly, her thumb circling over the head of his growing manhood. "I think it's just what _you_ need. It'll be the perfect Christmas present for you."

Michael raised an eyebrow at her eagerness to work for the US government, especially given by her earlier reaction. He looked at the excitement in her blue green eyes and almost laughed.

"Perfect present for me, huh? Guess there's no chance of _you_ enjoying yourself on this job or any other simple little errand Jesse might think up for us later on." _She was beginning to distract him._

"None whatsoever… It'll be a terrible burden, but I'll force meself to bear it for your sake."

Michael chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Well, if you're sure, then I'll tell Jesse we'll do it."

She smiled and lifted her head, so she could nip his earlobe. "Let's do something else first."

"Something else? Again?" He smirked and gently pulled her on top of him.

"Yes, we're going to be talking to gunrunners, so I thought now would be the ideal time to tell you all about the gun I want you to buy me for Christmas... It's got a long barrel, you see."

"Tell me about it later," he requested, before peppering her face with tender butterfly kisses until she captured his lips to deepen the kiss, making love under the rising Antiguan sun and once again giving each other the most perfect present either of them could have ever asked for and more.


End file.
